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"With  a  sudden  cry  of  protest,  protest  ag'ainst  the  possibilities  of  disaster  to 
her  hopes  that  lay  within  the  moment,  she  took  down  the  receiver." — Page  491. 


THE  MILLS  OF 
MAMMON 


BY 

JAMES  H.  BROWER 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
F.  L.  WEITZEL 

AND 
HENDERSON  HOWK 


JOLIET,  ILL.,  U.  S.  A. 

P.  H.  MURRAY  &  COMPANY 

1909 
All  Rights  Reserved 


THE  MILLS  OP  MAMMOI* 
Copyright,  1909,  by 

P.  H.  MURRAY. 
[All  rights  reserved.] 

Published  October,  1909. 


THE  STORY  BY  CHAPTERS! 

PART  I. 
Chap.  Page. 

1.  One  Side  of  a  Grave  Question  9 

2.  "Hump's"    Daughter 21 

3.  A  Worker's  Home   24 

4.  Spies  Wanted    31 

5.  Joel  Takes  the  Money  36 

6.  Charles  Augustus'  Charity  List  46 

7.  Who   Is   John   Bulman? 55 

8.  Martha  Moves  to  Town  64 

9.  A  Worshiper  and  a  Rebel  68 

10.  Moses  Finds  a  Mother 74 

11.  The  Investigation  of  Thompson   79 

12.  Mother  Holcomb  Is  Circumvented  85 

13.  A  Mechanic's  Vision   92 

14.  An  Unfinished  Chapter  99 

15.  The  Chapter  Finished   , Ill 

16.  A  White  Slave  Trader  '. 116 

17.  Madame  Vaughn's  and  the  "Eagle  Club" 122 

18.  A  White  Slave  Pen  127 

19.  A  Tragedy  at  Madame's  135 

20.  "They's  Only  One  Way" 142 

21.  Norma    Jordan    146 

22.  Madame   Talks   Business 153 

23.  "Are    You    Ready?" 163 

24.  The  Betrayal   168 

25.  Charley  Harris  Finds  a  Job 172 

26.  The  First  Alarm   177 

27.  A  Countryman  Held  Up 189 

28.  Mickey's  Religious  Experience   204 

29.  A  Worker's  Death  211 

30.  Holdon  Gives  Advice   217 

31.  Mickey  Introduces  Friends  226 

32.  The  Vision  Fades    234 

33.  The  Ultimate  Demand   242 

34.  When  Jim  Lacked  Sand 248 

/  OJL 


4  MILLS   OF    MAMMON. 

35.  A  Mock  Marriage  253 

36.  Joel's  Plans   258 

37.  Agitators  in  the  Plant  263 

38.  Mickey  in  a  New  Setting 272 

39     A  Hobby  and  Its  Rider 279 

40.  Uplift  Forces  at  Work 288 

41.  The  "Ethical  Study  Club" 287 

42.  Bulman  Talks  Ethics 293 

43.  Yancey  Plays  a  Part 304 

44.  Carson — "Physical    Instructor"    312 

45.  What  Happened  to  the  Spies   315 

PART    II. 

Chap.  Page 

1.  A  Detective  Story   327 

2.  Joel  Leaves  Cairo   335 

3.  Concerning   Charley    341 

4.  That  Vision  Again    344 

5.  A  Spasm  of  Virtue  348 

6.  The  Mill  of  the  Gods— Stops 353 

7.  In  a  Texas  Town  360 

8.  The  Murder  3G5 

9.  She  Wants  an  Angel  373 

10.  Letters  and  Comment  379 

11.  Announcing  the  Coming  of  Mr.  Wm.  Abner 383 

12.  An  "Iron  Angel"    396 

13.  The  Letter  He  Wanted 400 

14.  Price  in  the  Role  of  a  Burglar 405 

15.  Holdon   Returns    411 

16.  Mickey  Meets  on  Old  Friend 415 

17.  Lost— A  Son   419 

18.  The  Prospective  Candidate  at  a  Conference 425 

19.  Mickey  Meets  a  Topnotcher  432 

20.  A  "Hand"  at  Holdon's  439 

21.  The  Plotters  Meet  445 

22.  Out  into  the  Night   452 

23.  Fly  Boyd's  Sudden  Departure   456 

24.  The  Hue  and  Cry   462 

25.  Mr.  Abner  Prepares  to  Give  Battle 474 ' 

26.  They  Accept  482 


THE  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

"With  a  sudden  cry  of  protest,  protest  against  the  possi 
bilities  of  disaster  to  her  hopes  that  lay  within  the  'moment, 
she  took  down  the  receiver." — Page  491.  Frontispiece. 

"I  swan  ef  I  hain't  most  forgot  all  I  wanted  to  ask  you — 
a-seein'  that  pesky  nigger  a  diddlin*  an'  a  daddlin'  with  that 
carpet." — Page  65. 

"A  handful  *  *  *  finally  went  up  to  offer  advice,  criti 
cism  and  caution,  but  the  "PILLARS"  stood  firm. — Page  102. 

" and  here,  wolves,  human  wolves,  devour  this  beauty, 

and  feast  their  eyes  upon  her  flesh  alone." — Page  164. 

.<  *  *  *  d'youse  hear  me!  Youse  killed  him,  an'  dese 
here  men  knows  it." — Page  213. 

"I  will  follow  you  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  and  hire,  with 
my  kisses,  some  other  little  dog  to  put  you  away.  Now  go!" 
—Page  246. 

"They  ain't  no  priest  ner  sky-pilot  goin'  t'  say  a  word  t' 
God  fer  youse,  an'  God  knows  I  ain't." — Page  371. 

"The  first  one  of  you  to  lift  a  hand  will  beat  the  other  one 
to  hell  by  about  three  seconds." — Page  448. 


THE  MAD  MAMMON- WORSHIPING  WOULD.* 

Strange!     But  isn't  it  so? 

That  a  man  feels  good  when  he's  beaten  another 
And  fastened  himself  on  the  back  of  a  brother! 

Isn't  it  passing  strange? 

But  isn't  it  so? 

With  Jacob,  we  bargain  at  Esau's  cost; 
We're  pleased  with  profits  the  hired  have  lost; 
As  gods  turned  devils  we  call  for  rents ; 
As  usurers,  gloat  over  cent  per  cents; 
Our   riches,   religion  and   culture   we  roll, 
A  straining  mass,  on  each  body  and  soul 
Of  the  landless  class.     We  double  their  toil, 
And  feast  as  leeches  on  those  who  moil; 
And  then — and  then,  we  patronize  workers 
And  proudly  fellowship  robbers  and  shirkers! 

Strange!     Isn't  it  so? 

God  pity,  with  workers  'tis  so] 
For  among  all  classes  is  eager  desire 
To  rank  and  grade  and  to  climb  up  higher, 
Away  from  the  grime  and  smell  of  the  soil, 
Away  from  the  need  of  physical  toil, 
Away  from  the  vulgar,  serving  masses 
And  in  with  the  ruling,  cultured  classes — 
The  whiter  one's  hands  and  the  less  one  labors, 
The  more  he  is  thought  of  by  all  his  neighbors. 

Even  with  workers   'tis   so. 

Hence,  hard  is  the  task 
Of  those  who  insist  that  all  are  brothers 
And  live  by  their  faith,  to  emancipate  others. 
The  rich  raise  the  cry  of  "Dangerous  teachers!" 
The  middle  class  fly  from  radical  preachers, 
The  proletaire,  blinded,  are  pitiful  creatures, 
With  spirit  and  courage  blurred  out  of  their  features; 

And  fear  makes  a  desperate  task. 

GEORGE  HOWARD  GIBSON. 

*From  a  volume  of  verse  entitled  "The  People's  Hour,"  to 
come  from  the  press  simultaneously  with  this  book.  By  the 
same  publishers. 


THE  MILLS  OF  MAMMON 

CHAPTER  I. 

ONE  SIDE  OF  A  GRAVE  QUESTION. 

On  one  of  the  most  aristocratic  avenues  in  our  metro 
polis  stands  a  mansion,  unsurpassed  in  beauty  of  archi 
tecture  by  any  within  the  reach  of  the  eye  in  either  di 
rection. 

Within,  the  appointments  are  in  keeping,  and  the  best 
of  our  society  of  the  "new  rich"  had  been  entertained 
within  its  doors,  up  to  six  months  ago.  But  death  felt 
its  way  even  into  this  abode  of  wealth,  and  took  the 
wife  and  mother  from  scenes  of  earthly  contests  and 
conquests,  leaving  the  Honorable  Horace  Holdon  a 
widower,  with  a  daughter  twenty-one  years  of  age,  and 
a  son  of  twenty-five. 

Beatrice  Holdon  had  tried  to  make  up  to  her  mother 
for  the  neglect  and  indifference  of  her  brother  Joel,  and 
her  love  and  devotion  had,  in  some  measure,  compensated 
for  his  shortcomings. 

As  Joel  Holdon  plunged  more  and  more  into  the  vor 
tex  of  vice  that  opens  inviting  arms  to  the  sons  of  rich 
and  indulgent  parents,  his  mother  sought  to  drown  her 
grief  and  quiet  her  conscience  by  redoubling  her  chari 
table  work  among  the  poor.  Beatrice  went  into  "the 
sweet  work  of  charity"  with  a  double  purpose — to  satisfy 
her  mother's  longing  for  forgetfulness,  and  to  satisfy 
her  desire  to  do  all  she  might  to  help  lift  the  weight  of 
misery  she  had  early  come  to  know  in  the  lives  of  the 
distressed  about  her. 

"Bee"  Holdon  was  sincere,  honest,  earnest  and  de 
voutly  religious.  She  had  learned  to  differentiate  be 
tween  poverty  and  pauperism — a  thing  seemingly  impos 
sible  of  comprehension  on  the  part  of  the  average  char 
ity  worker.  Her  work  among  the  poor  carried  a  blessing 
with  it,  because  of  the  spirit  in  which  she  gave. 

9 


10  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

After  her  mother's  death,  this  girl  of  twenty-one 
practically  gave  her  time  and  all  the  money  she  could 
coax  from  her  father  to  the  work. 

The  mother  died  firm  in  the  faith  that  her  husband 
was  a  true  man,  even  though  a  bit  hard  to  understand  at 
times. 

Could  she  have  known  the  real  Horace  Holdon,  could 
she  have  known  that  some  of  the  dens  of  vice,  gilded 
though  they  were,  upon  which  she  would  have  looked 
with  loathing,  furnished  each  month  a  percentage  of  the 
money  she  spent  to  assist  the  wives  and  children  of  men 
who  had  been  ground  to  powder  by  the  system  that  paid 
toll  to  her  husband,  she  could  not  have  been  a  charity 
worker,  and  would  have  had  more  of  heartache  and  sor 
row  to  endure. 

Joel  had  just  returned  from  a  trip  to  the  Pacific 
coast  which  had  cost  his  father  something  like  ten  thou 
sand  dollars,  a  trip  in  which  a  "foot-light  favorite"  fig 
ured.  While  Joel  is  smarting  from  the  sting  of  things 
the  Honorable  Horace  had  said  in  warning,  among 
others,  that  he  must  live  within  his  allowance  until  he 
should  decide  to  settle  down,  that  this  San  Francisco 
escapade  is  the  last  he  will  settle  for,  etc.,  we  will  intro 
duce  him.  An  offer  from  the  father  to  get  him  a  berth 
with  the  mining  branch  of  the  trust,  Joel  had  simply 
scoffed  at,  declaring  that  when  he  wanted  to  be  buried 
alive  he  would  let  the  governor  know. 

Twice  since  his  return  home,  Bee  had  induced  him  to 
accompany  her  on  her  trips  into  the  realm  of  poverty — 
and  that  was  the  limit.  Joel  swore  under  his  breath  at 
each  halt.  The  sight  of  the  squalid  misery  of  the  poor 
sickened  him.  He  looked  upon  all  of  the,  to  him, 
wretched  mass  as  so  many  beggars,  and  resented  the 
familiarity  of  his  sister  with  such  people. 

After  the  second  expedition  he  determined  to  "blow 
her  up,"  as  he  put  it,  and  if  she  wouldn't  listen  to  rea 
son,  he  proposed  to  take  the  matter  to  the  governor. 
His  chance  came  sooner  than  he  had  expected.  While 
taking  a  rather  absent-minded  look  at  his  many  manly 
perfections  of  figure  and  feature  in  the  hall  mirror,  Bee 
caught  sight  of  him  and  prevented  his  escape  by  a  sud 
den  descent  upon  him.  "Oh,  Joel,"  she  exclaimed,  "I 
want  you  to  go  with  me  this  morning— this  June  weather 


ONE   SIDE   OF   A  GRAVE   QUESTION  II 

is  lovely."  Scowling  into  the  mirror,  until  his  face 
suited  his  fancy,  Joel  turned.  "Where  to,  Sis?  Not  to 
hand  out  another  batch  of  Dad's  dough  to  the  brats 
down  on  Hell's  half-acre."  Bee  put  up  her  hands  in 
protest.  "How  can  you,  Joel?  You,  you  ought  not  to 
talk  so!" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "See  here,  Sis,  I  might 
just  as  well  unload  now  as  any  other  time,  and  I  tell 
you  flat,  if  you  won't  listen  to  me,  I  am  going  to  appeal 
the  case  to  the  governor." 

"I  don't  understand — what  case?"  Bee  inquired. 

"What  case?  Say,  kid,  don't  try  to  string  me.  You 
know  what  I  am  driving  at — this  damned  charity  non 
sense  of  yours — that's  what  case." 

Bee  dropped  her  hand  from  her  brother's  arm,  and 
her  eyes  rested  upon  the  tips  of  his  shoes,  her  lips 
trembling,  she  protested:  "Joel,  you  shouldn't  talk  to 
me  that  way — that's  the  way  drunken  husbands  talk  to 
the  wives  they  abuse." 

"Put  me  on  a  level  with  the  drunken  husband  of  one 
of  those  dirty,  sniveling  beggars,  who  coax  money  out 
of  you,  and  then  laugh  at  you  for  being  a  "softy"  as 
soon  as  your  back  is  turned!  Well,  I  call  that  the 
limit." 

"Oh,  Joel,  you  know  I  didn't  mean  that.  You  could 
not  abuse  the  confidence  of  a  woman  who  trusted  you — 
you  couldn't  sink  so  low  as  to  abuse  your  wife.  I  only 
meant  that  your  voice  and  your  sneering  sounded 
strangely  like  things  I've  heard  in  my  work  among  the 
poor." 

Joel  patted  her  on  the  shoulder.  "All  right,  Sis,  let 
it  go  at  that,  but  just  the  same  I  want  to  straighten  you 
out  on  what  you  call  your  'work  among  the  poor/ '' 

"Well?"     Bee  looked  up  at  him  appealingly. 

"Well,"  petulantly.  "What  do  you  mean  by  that 
'well?'  Do  you  know,  sometimes  I'd  like  to  slap  you 
when  you  look  at  me  that  way.  There's  something  in 
your  eyes  I  don't  like — sort  of  a  Villain  still  pursued 
her  look.' " 

"Joel !" 

"Fact,  Sis !  Anyhow  it  don't  work  a  spell  on  me  this 
time.  You  know,"  he  plunged  on,  "I  have  always  been 


12  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

strictly  against  yonr  meddling  with  those  beggars,  and 
if  the  old  woman " 

"What  old  woman,  Joel?"  Bee's  voice  was  low,  but 
vibrant  with  reserve  force. 

"Hang  it!  Mother,  of  course!  If  she  hadn't  gone 

nutty  on  charity  work "  The  girl  swung  about,  and 

catching  him  by  the  shoulders,  shook  him,  saying:  "Stop 
right  there,  Joel  Holdon.  You  may  say  anything  you 
please  of  me,  but  don't  you  dare  to  say  one  word  about 
mother.  You,  of  all  men,  to  belittle  the  work  that  she 
gave  herself  up  to,  when  you — when  you " 

Joel  removed  her  shaking  hands  from  his  shoulders, 
and  in  an  injured  tone,  said :  "So  you  are  going  to 
take  up  the  hectoring  where  she  left  off.  God,  I  know 
now  what  I've  always  seen  in  your  eyes !  Come,  kid, 
spit  it  out,  spit  it  out,  I'm  used  to  it." 

Bee  shrank  away  from  him,  and  for  a  moment  was 
silent;  then  lifting  her  eyes,  and  holding  out  her  hands 
to  him,  said:  "Joel,  forgive  me.  I  promised  mother  I 
would  never  reproach  you,  but  you  drove  me " 

"Never  reproach  me — and  I  drove  you?  Say,  Sis, 
this  is  as  good  as  a  play.  What  have  1  done?  It  seems 
to  me  the  reproach  is  on  the  other  side.  You  belong  to 
the  best  set  in  town,  and  everywhere  I  go,  and  every 
body  I  know,  who  is  anybody,  either  says  you  are  queer 
or  thinks  so.  What  with  your  hiding  yourself,  and  as 
sociating  with  people  who  are  simply  impossible — why, 
damn  it,  Bee,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  the  whole 
of  our  set  is  down  on  the  sort  of  work  you  are  doing. 
It's  bad  enough  for  us  to  pay  over  money  to  some  char 
ity  organization — and  that's  blackmail  nine  times  out  of 
ten ;  but  to  have  you  going  into  the  homes  of  such  peo 
ple  as  you  dragged  me  to  twice  last  week,  and  you  hold 
ing  their  miserable,  dirty  babies  in  your  arms,  while 
great  big,  red- faced  women  weep  tears  on  your  silk 
cape — each  one  of  'em  worth  a  hard  dollar  to  her,  and 
the  whole  tribe  of  brats,  schooled  to  it,  no  doubt,  stood 
around,  or  pulled  at  you,  and  told  the  lies  made  up  for 
them.  Why,  Bee,  it's  disgraceful!  It's  an  outrage,  and 
I  don't  see  what  the  governor's  been  thinking  about  that 
he  hasn't  put  a  stop  to  it,  since  he  has  a  free  hand  with 
you." 

Bee  did  not  reply.    Standing  with  downcast  eyes,  she 


ONE   SIDE   OF   A   GRAVE   QUESTION  13 

seemed  to  be  pondering  the  weight  of  her  brother's  criti 
cism  of  her  "great  labor." 

Believing  her  silence  argued  conviction,  Joel  with 
vigor  renewed  the  attack,  while  his  father  arrived  at  the 
library  door  and  halted  within  earshot,  as  he  resumed: 
"You  see,  it's  like  this,  Sis.  The  half  they  tell  you  is 
false;  there  isn't  anything  to  it.  Those  women  whose 
tales  of  woe  you  unfolded  to  me  after  we  got  away  from 
their  dirty  dens  are  drunkards  along  with  their  husbands 
in  nine  cases  out  of  ten.  Yes,  they  are,  and  those  who 
are  not  are  in  poverty  because  their  husbands  belong  to 
labor  unions,  and  are  striking,  or  are  in  jail  instead  of 
being  at  work.  The  thing  I'm  kicking  about  is  this — I've 
been  in  this  world  twenty-five  years,  and  I've  seen  a  lot  of 
it,  and  I  tell  you  the  more  'sweet  charity'  you  pour  out 
on  the  wives  and  children  of  the  workers,  the  more  the 
men  organize  and  strike,  and  destroy  our  property.  Why, 
kid,  it's  a  regular  layout — a  game.  The  governor  runs 
a  big  factory,  the  men  want  more  money  for  booze  and 
craps  and  penny  ante.  They  organize  a  labor  union, 
and  hit  the  old  man  for  a  raise.  If  he  don't  come  down 
with  the  rocks,  they  strike,  and  cave  in  windows  and 
raise  general  hell  all  around  the  works.  At  the  same 
time  the  governor's  daughter,  a  bit  loose  in  her  head 
piece,  is  a  snoopin'  around  amongst  these  men's  wives 
and  ladling  out  the  governor's  rocks  promiscuously  to 
any  one  who  can  break  the  drouth,  and  while  dad  fights 
the  men,  he  puts  up  the  dough  to  feed  their  families." 

"Joel,  Joel,  you  don't  know,  you  can't  know  what 
you  are  saying."  Bee,  with  hands  clasped,  stood  before 
him,  when  the  father  called  out:  "Come  Joel,  and  you, 
too,  Bee;  come  into  the  library  and  let  us  settle  this 
matter — the  three  of  us."  Joel  was  elated ;  this  was  bet 
ter  than  he  had  hoped.  Now  Bee  would  surely  get 
"hers,"  he  thought,  as  he  entered  the  library  and  threw 
himself  into  one  of  its  comfortable  chairs.  Bee  entered 
quietly,  and  sat  down  where  she  could  see  both  men.  She 
had  always  known  that  her  father  opposed  this  work  of 
hers;  now  she  felt  that  all  her  hopes  and  fears  were  to 
find  issue,  but  she  was  undismayed.  In  her  quiet  blue 
eyes  there  dwelt  the  steadfast  light  of  purpose;  she 
thought  she  knew  her  way  through  life — they  did  not. 
Her  thoughts  were  undisturbed  for  quite  a  while.  The 


14  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

father  was  evidently  at  a  loss  how  to  open  the  subject. 
Finally  Joel  severed  the  knot. 

"I  don't  know  how  much  you  heard  of  what  I  was 
saying  to  Sis/'  he  observed,  "but  I  can  state  my  case  in  a 
few  words.  I  am  dead  against  Bee's  going  any  farther 
with  this  foolishness  she  calls  'charity  work/  I  want 
to  see  her  put  in  a  little  more  ginger,  and  not  make  a 
holy  show  of  herself,  going  around  looking  like  a  picture 
of  'Mary  at  the  Cross/  ': 

Bee  sprang  from  her  chair.  "Joel,  Joe^  now  can 
you?" 

"Beatrice  is  right,  Jo,  let's  hear  facts — your  oratory 
is  a  bit  lurid,"  the  father  remonstrated. 

"Well,  it's  the  truth ;  the  girls  she  ought  to  run  with 
make  fun  of  her,  and  the  fellows  of  our  set,  outside  of 
Phelps,  Harmon  and  Wetherby,  call  her  a  'Little  Puri 
tan/  Why,  a  man  would  be  better  off  without  a  sister 
than  to  have  one  who  don't  know  enough  to  take  the 
pole  in  the  race  when  it  is  hers  all  the  way  round." 

"Well,  well,  yes.  But,  Jo,  I  must  insist  that  your 
language  is  better  fitted  to  the  race  track  than  to  the 
icompany  of  either  your  sister  or  father." 

"I  beg  pardon."  Joel  uttered  the  words  perfuncto 
rily  and  settled  back  to  the  cushions,  well  satisfied. 

Across  the  room  Bee  was  wondering  at  the  differ 
ence  in  her  brother's  viewpoint  touching  her  and  him 
self.  For  her  he  insisted  that  she  should  take  the  pole 
for  the  family  honor,  for  himself  forbidden  pastures,  and 
a  sulking  fit,  if  harness  or  training  for  a  race  in  defense 
of  family  honor  were  even  mentioned. 

"Well,  Beatrice,"  the  father  turned  to  her  with  a 
smile,  "what  have  you  to  say  to  Joel's  demand  that  you 
give  up  this  plaything?" 

"May  I  hear  what  you  have  to  say  first,  father?" 

"Why,  certainly,  Bee.  While  I  am  willing  to  admit 
that  I  am  not  nearly  so  radical  as  Joel — and  mind,  I  am 
convinced  that  he  has  had,  as  he  says,  a  good  deal  of  op 
portunity  to  learn  at  first  hand,  since  he  has  had  to  sow 
a  big  crop  of  wild  oats,  and  spread  the  sowing  to  the 
two  coasts — I  must  admit  that  I  don't  believe  in  the  sort 
of  'charity  work'  you  indulge  in.  You  see,  it  is  this  way, 
Beatrice.  There  are  a  hundred  and  one  organized  chari 
ties,  church  associations  and  begging  institutions  that 


ONE   SIDE   OF   A   GRAVE   QUESTION  15 

make  a  regular  business  of  charity.  Why,  there  isn't  a 
business  man,  a  club  or  any  other  institution,  even  a 
saloon,  that  isn't  hounded  to  death  by  the  agents  of  these 
so-called  charities.  In  fact,  it  has  come  to  be  a  bore, 
and  I  have  been  satisfied  for  a  long  time  that  the  major 
ity  of  these  organizations  which  prey  on  business  men 
and  rich  families  are  more  interested  in  charity  because 
it  gives  them  an  easy  living  than  on  any  other  account. 
Still,  so  long  as  they  are  organized,  and  we  have  to  pay 
the  fiddler,  I  don't  see  why  our  wives  and  daughters 
should  take  up  such  work.  And  you  know,  Beatrice, 
they  are  always  opposing  the  meddling  of — well,  people 
who  go  out  individually  and  interfere  with  their  work." 

"But  I  don't  interfere,  father.  The  people  I  help 
would  not  accept  help  from  the  agents  of  organized 
charities,  and  they  do  need  help  so  badly.  Their  lives 
are  wretched.  Oh,  I  wish  you  men  could  see  them  as 
I  do." 

Beatrice  stood  at  the  head  of  the  great  library  table, 
her  face  aglow. 

"Father — Joel — don't  try  to  take  this  work  away 
from  me.  I  would  hate  myself  and  this  beautiful  home 
and  all  our  wealth  if  I  had  to  sit  down  with  folded  hands, 
knowing  what  I  do  of  the  distress  that  burdens  the  lives 
of  thousands  of  innocent  women  and  children,  yes,  and 
men.  Don't  ask  me  to  give  this  up.  I " 

"Nonsense,  kid,"  Joel  protested,  with  a  fine  assump 
tion  of  superior  wisdom,  "you  just  pack  your  duds  and 
go  to  the  shore  with  any  one  of  a  dozen  parties  who 
would  be  only  too  glad  to  have  dad's  daughter  to  flaunt 
in  the  faces  of  their  dearest  friends,  and  I'll  bet  the  nrice 
of  your  outfit  you'll  forget  all  the  little  brats  and  the 
tear-dripping  dames  and  their  drunken  husbands  inside 
of  a  month." 

"Joel  is  right,  Beatrice,"  the  father's  level  voice  came 
to  her  as  from  afar.  "You  need  a  change.  You  have 
been  too  much  alone  since  mother's  death,  and  besides, 
can't  you  see  that  your  own  statement  must  condemn 
your  work,  as  you  call  it  ?  If  the  people  you  carry  my 
money  to  are  too  good  to  go  to  the  charitable  associa 
tions,  or  accept  help  from  their  agents,  they  don't  de 
serve  help,  and  each  one  you  go  to  is  just  adding  another 
to  the  army  of  paupers." 


1 6  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"They  are  not  paupers,"  Bee's  voice  was  full  of  in 
sistence. 

"Not  paupers?"  Joel  sneered. 

"Then  what  are  they?"  the  father  demanded. 

"I  wish  I  could  take  you  into  their  homes,"  Bee  be 
gan,  when  Joel  interrupted  with — "Well,  haven't  you? 
Didn't  I  see  the  dirty,  ragged  little  beasts  in  swarms? 
Didn't  .you  show  me  the  choicest  lot  of  bedraggled  wom 
en  in  town,  and  didn't  we  see  hundreds  of  their  daugh 
ters  coming  out  of  old  Hutch's  factories,  looking  like 
the  very  devil?  What  do  you  think  you  can  do  with 
such  cattle,  anyway  ?  Not  paupers,  indeed !  Next  you 
will  try  to  tell  us  that  they  are  as  good  as  yourself,  or 
some  such  rot." 

He  turned  to  his  father.  "I  tell  you,  dad,  it's  just 
such  foolishness  as  this  of  mother's  and  Bee's  that's  got 
these  working  people  to  talking  Socialism,  and  yelling 
for  a  divvy.  Why,  I  stopped  on  a  corner  the  other  night 
and  heard  a  big,  hulking  working  man  tell  a  crowd  of 
Nixon's  men  that  if  it  wasn't  for  the  fact  that  they  had 
to  work  hard  enough  to  keep  two  automobiles,  a  carriage, 
a  trap,  a  big  mansion  and  all  the  men  and  women  the 
Nixons  have  to  serve  them,  they  would  have  more  of 
the  comforts  of  life  in  their  own  homes.  Then  the  impu 
dent  cuss  pointed  over  to  the  plant  and  said :  'Men,  you 
may  organize  unions  and  strikes  from  now  on  till  dooms 
day,  but  so  long  as  Nixon  and  his  class  own  that  plant 
and  its  machinery,  and  all  the  wealth  you  produce,  you 
working  men  will  remain  within  six  weeks  of  the  poor- 
house,  and  when  a  panic  comes  you'll  either  send  your 
family  to  the  poorhouse  or  accept  the  charity  monger's 
dole  of  stolen  gold,  red  with  the  blood  of  little  children.' 
And  at  that  the  mob  shouted.  Say,  I  wanted  to  make  a 
roughhouse  right  there.  The  idea!" 

"Who  was  he?"  Bee  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"Oh,  I  can  tell  you  all  right,  all  right.  I  found  out, 
and  the  next  day  I  fixed  his  clock." 

"How  was  that?"  the  father  questioned. 

"Why,  easy  enough.  It  seems  that  our  beastly  city 
government  is  afraid  of  that  scum,  and  to  curry  favor 
with  them  they  issue  street  permits  for  their  speakers.  I 
went  to  the  policeman  and  got  this  lout's  name  and  found 
out  that  he  worked  for  the  Nixon  people,  and  when  I 


ONE   SIDE   OF    A    GRAVE   QUESTION  I/ 

went  down  town  the  next  day  I  sent  my  card  up  to 
Nixon,  and  when  I  told  him  what  downright  anarchy 
Bulman  had  been  feeding  the  men,  why,  he  just  reached 
over  and  tapped  the  bell  and  had  his  nibs  up  on  the  car 
pet  in  less  than  no  time.  Say,  he  looked  like  a  stoker 
when  he  came  in,  dirty,  greasy,  and  wet  with  sweat. 
Then  Nixon  lit  into  him.  He  looked  sort  of  queer  at 
first,  but  when  Nixon  got  through  with  him,  I'll  be 
damned — excuse  me.  I'll  be  blowed  if  he  wasn't  smiling. 
I'll  admit  he  kept  his  temper  while  Nixon  jacked  him 
up,  and  at  last  he  just  turned  to  Nixon  and  said :  'From 
what  you  have  said,  I  infer  that  you  don't  require  my 
services  any  longer/  Nixon  told  him  to  go  back  and 
finish  his  day,  but  the  fellow  said,  'No,  there  is  some 
danger  that  I  might  convert  some  of  the  men  to  Social 
ism.  No,  I  quit  here  and  now.  My  political  convictions 
are  not  for  sale,  even  at  the  price  of  bread/  And  he 
stood  his  ground  until  he  got  the  paltry  wages  due  him. 
And  then,  think  of  Nixon's  gratitude  to  me.  Bulmaij 
had  hardly  gone  when  Nixon  turned  on  me  and  said : 
'I'm  sorry  you  came,  Holdon.  That  man  was  one  of  the 
most  faithful  workers  we  ever  had,  and  besides,  he's  in 
a  devil  of  a  hard  row — lost  two  children  last  year,  and 
this  year  his  boy,  who  was  just  getting  old  enough  to 
help  out,  got  cut  up  in  a  machine  over  on  the  west  side, 
and  isn't  well  yet.  If  I'd  thought  he  had  the  nerve  to 
take  the  gaff  that  way,  I  wouldn't  have  sent  for  him.' 
And  he  seemed  put  cut.  Now,  wasn't  that  the  limit?" 

With  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  her  cheeks  red  with  a 
righteous  anger,  Bee  confronted  her  brother.  "I'm  glad, 
so  glad  you  refused  to  go  with  me  this  morning.  I  was 
going  to  his  home  to  carry  comfort  to  his  sick  wife,  and 
that  poor  boy,  crippled  for  life.  And  you,  my  own 
brother,  have  taken  the  last  hope  away  from  them!  I 
am  glad,  Joel  Holdon,  that  you  would  not  go.  If  Mr. 

Bulman  had  seen  you "     She  hesitated.     "Do  you 

know  what  I  would  do  to  you  if  I  were  in  Mr.  Bulman's 
place?  Well,  I'd  fight  you.  I'd  whip  you  if  I  went  to 
jail  for  it." 

"My  God,  Beatrice,  what  are  you  talking  about?" 
Holdon  looked  at  his  daughter  with  staring  eyes. 

"Just  what  I  mean,  father.  It  was  such  a  contempt 
ible  thing  to  do.  I  know  Mr.  Bulman  is  a  Socialist,  but 


1 8  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

isn't  that  just  as  honorable  as  being  a  Democrat  or  a 
Republican?  Don't  we  pride  ourselves  on  having  a  free 
country,  where  each  man  holds  to  whatever  politics  he 
pleases  ?" 

"But,  Beatrice,  you  don't  understand.  While  I  will 
admit  that  the  constitution  grants  that  right,  I  contend 
that  Socialism  does  not  come  under  that  head.  Why, 
child,  we  have  got  to  weed  them  out  of  our  shops  and 
factories.  They  won't  be  put  down  and  they  are  a  real 
danger." 

"But,  father,  if  you  had  a  Socialist  in  the  foundry 
and  his  family  would  suffer  if  you  discharged  him,  and 
some  one  came  to  you  as  Joel  went  to  Mr.  Nixon,  and 
you  sent  for  the  man  and  he  refused  to  give  up  what  he 
believed,  or  refused  to  lie  to  you  to  hold  his  place,  would 
you  discharge  him  ?" 

"I  certainly  should.  Why,  Beatrice,  I  am  not  run 
ning  a  charity  organization.  When  I  have  paid  a  man 
his  wages,  he  has  no  farther  claim  upon  me.  Of  course, 
I  would  discharge  him  as  a  lesson  to  the  rest  of  the  men 
not  to  fool  away  their  time  listening  to  such  rant." 

"Then  the  men  in  your  foundry  do  not  have  political 
liberty?"  It  was  a  statement  rather  than  a  question. 

"Political  liberty  be  blowed !  I'm  talking  business.  If 
you  understood  business,  there  would  be  less  cobwebs 
in  your  head,  my  girl.  Business  demands  that  the  work 
ers  be  kept  where  they  cannot  disturb  our  markets  by 
strikes  and  boycotts.  And  when  it  comes  to  Socialist 
politics,  that  is  ten  times  worse  than  all  the  unions  in 
existence.  When  we  give  the  men  work,  they  ought  to 
show  enough  gratitude  to  knock  any  agitator  on  the  head 
who  comes  around  talking  about  our  mansions,  carriages, 
automobiles  and  wealth.  Instead  of  that,  as  Joel  says, 
they  throw  up  their  hats  and  shout,  and  then  go  home, 
and  likely  dream  of  the  day  when  they  will  be  riding  in 
automobiles.  I'd  like  to  see  them." 

"That's  just  it,  dad,  and  Sis  is  feeding  Socialists  and 
other  cattle  with  our  money,  trying  to  fatten  them  up  so 
they  can  fight.  I'll  tell  you  flat,  if  I  held  the  combination 
to  the  cash  box  she'd  not  get  another  piece  of  money  for 
any  such  foolishness.  Better  pack  her  off  to  the  coast 
next  week,  and  let  her  cool  her  heels  in  the  surf." 

"But  I'm  not  going,"  Bee  announced. 


ONE   SIDE  OF   A  GRAVE   QUESTION  19 

"Well,"  her  father  replied,  "you  can  understand  that 
you  don't  get  another  cent  of  my  money  to  put  into  the 
pockets  of  your  suffering  poor.  You'll  get  just  your 
monthly  allowance,  and  that's  all.  If  you  don't  go  to 
some  summer  resort,  what  do  you  intend  to  do?  I  don't 

think  I  shall  keep  this  great  house  open " 

Beatrice  put  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  said: 
"You  promised  mother,"  her  voice  was  almost  a  whisper, 
"that  this  should  be  my  home  as  long  as  I  lived."  His 
head  fell,  and  even  Joel's  ever-drumming  fingers  halted. 
"Well,  well,  yes,  I  did;  but  if  you  don't  go  to  the 
seaside,  you  might  go  somewhere  else,  you  know.  You 
wouldn't  lose  your  home." 

The  girl  stooped  and  kissed  him. 
"I'm  going  to  stay  at  home,  father." 
She  walked  to  the  door,  her  lips  trembling  and  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  then  hesitated  and  turned  back. 

"Did  you  really  mean  that  I  am  not  to  have  any  more 
money  for — for  sweet  charity?"  she  faltered. 

"Yes,  I  meant  it."  Holdon's  voice  was  anything  but 
steady,  and  Beatrice  felt  that  he  would  yield  if  she  but 
insisted. 

"But  I  can  still  be  honest  with  myself,"  she  said, 
proudly,  arid  went  on:  "I  have  promises  to  fulfill  to 
day,"  looking  straight  across  the  table  at  Joel,  "and  a 
duty  that  wrings  my  heart.  I'm  going  to  Mr.  Bulman's 
and  tell  them  the  whole  truth.  I  consider  Joel's  act  a 
most  contemptible  thing,  whether  measured  by  business 
or  any  other  standard,  and  I  shall  not  hide  the  truth,  even 
for  my  own  brother." 

Without  a  thought  as  to  what  her  words  really  im 
plied,  the  Honorable  Horace  Holdon  sprang  from  his 
chair,  exclaiming :  "And  I  forbid  you  to  do  anything:  of 
the  kind." 

"Here,  too,"  Joel  added. 

For  just  a  moment  the  girl  hesitated.  Her  eyes  had 
lost  their  softness  and  her  lips  were  drawn  straight 
across  her  even  teeth. 

"Yet,  I  will  go,"  she  declared.  And  added  while  they 
stood,  scarce  believing  their  senses:  "Not  that  I  want 
to  be  disobedient,  but  I  gave  a  promise  to  one  who  knew 
my  heart,  and  appreciated  my  work.  A  promise  I  dare 
not  break.  I  must  be  honest  with  mvself  and  to  those 


2O  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

who  trust  in  me."     She  left  the  room,  sobbing  as  she 
went. 

"That  comes  of  mother's  tomfoolery.  I  always 
thought  Sis  was " 

"Hush,  Joel.  Beatrice  is  all  right.  She's  a  little 
jewel,  but  it's  this  confounded  mixing  with  the  poor  that 
has  sent  her  off  on  a  tangent.  The  little  I  give  her  for 
charity  won't  build  up  many  unions,  or  feed  enough  So 
cialists  to  carry  a  ward.  I'll  bring  her  smiles  back  to 
morrow,  with  a  nice  check.  See  if  I  don't,  and  after  al 
your  butting  in  on  the  Bulman  business,  and  making  a 
big  thing  of  it " 

"Well,  how  in  the  dickens  could  I  know  anything 
about  her  being  as  thick  as  soubrettes  in  flytime  with  the 
outfit?  If  I  had " 

"Well,  yes,  if  you  had,  of  course,  you  wouldn't  have 
said  it.  But  the  thing  I'm  thinking  of  is  Beatrice  her 
self.  If  some  eligible  young  fellow  could  be  gotten  to 
take  up  some  of  her  time.  Of  course,  I  don't  want  any 
rakes  or  young  Johnnies  coming  around,  but  some  young 
man  of  good  family  and  plenty  of  means." 

"Why,  dad,  what's  the  matter  with  Charlie  Wether- 
by?  He's  the  limit  of  all  that's  nice,  and  his  folks  are 
such  an  old  family  that  the  girls  shrivel  up  at  seventeen, 
and  the  boys  go  in  for  psalm  singing  and  all  sorts  of  de 
votional  exercises  at  ten.  He's  the  very  fellow;  besides, 
he's  dead  crazy  over  'charity'  and  has  his  old  man  eter 
nally  digging  up  for  associations  for  suppressing  every 
thing  but  the  old  man's  sugar  mills.  He  would  soon 
show  her  where  charity  of  her  kind  was  a  sin,  and  if 
she  would  take  to  him — well,  he  won't  have  less  than  two 
millions." 

"Bring  him  out  and  let's  see  how  Beatrice  takes  to 
his  sort  of  charity.  And,  Joel,  we  have  both  been  trying 
to  show  Beatrice  the  path  of  duty.  Now,  how  about 
yourself?  Have  you  thought  much  about  my  proposi 
tion  to  put  you  up  at  the  iron  mines?" 

Joel  looked  at  his  watch.  "Phew,  past  time  now.  No, 
I  haven't  thought  it  out  yet.  I've  got  an  engagement  at 
the  'Eagle,'  and  I'll  be  twenty  minutes  late.  No,  I 
haven't  thought  much  about  it.  Good  day." 

As  Joel  left  the  room,  the  father  called  after  him. 
"Well,  think  it  over,  Joe." 


CHAPTER    II. 

"HUMP'S"    DAUGHTER. 

In  a  section  of  Illinois  where  farm  lands  sold,  not  so 
many  years  ago,  for  less  per  acre  than  the  price  of  a  good 
pair  of  boots,  the  growing  demand  for  the  soil  has  made 
many  a  first  settler  comparatively  well-to-do.  Such  an 
one  was  Zedekiah  Holcomb,  only  son  of  a  quiet  old  Ver- 
monter  who  had  been  well  satisfied  to  have  a  bare  three- 
hundred-and-twenty  of  our  rich  soil,  after  having  spent 
the  best  half  of  his  life  on  a  much  smaller  and  less  pro 
ductive  farm  in  the  Green  Mountain  state. 

"Jed,"  an  only  child,  inherited  the  fat  farm  shortly 
after  his  marriage  with  Martha  Plummer,  the  buxom 
daughter  of  "th*  most  bullheadedest  neighbor  God  ever  let 
a  Christian  settle  next  to  on  this  earth,"  to  use  Jed's 
father's  flat-footed  declaration  as  a  basis  of  character 
study. 

Herman  Plummer  (known  to  his  little  world  as 
"Hump")  had,  to  hear  him  tell  it,  been  a  wild  blade  in 
his  time — did  pretty  much  everything  his  worst  enemy 
could  possibly  have  accused  him  of  doing,  murder  ex- 
cepted.  But  all  that  happened  before  he  gave  his  heart 
to  God.  To  hear  "Old  Hump"  testify  served  the  youth 
of  the  community  in  lieu  of  the  circus.  There  were,  we 
are  sorry  to  say,  some  grown  folk,  and  amongst  them  a 
few  mothers,  who  condoned  this  levity  in  the  young. 
And  it  must  be  recorded  in  their  defense  that  there  were 
extenuating  circumstances. 

When  Plummer  warmed  up  year  after  year  in  the 
old-fashioned  revivals,  got  going  at  quarterly  meeting,  or, 
as  always  happened,  found  the  full  power  of  grace  at 
camp-meeting,  his  crimes  of  commission  grew  in  number 
and  atrocity  as  he  grew  in  years  and  in  grace. 

Martha,  the  only  child  in  the  Plummer  home,  had 
been  early  offended  at  the  levity  of  the  youngsters  of  the 

21 


22  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

community,  and  had  had  a  number  of  quarrels  over  her 
father's  sinnings,  his  conversion  and  his  sanctification 
before  she  gave  her  name  to  the  church. 

Hump's  wife  belonged  to  the  congregation,  as  a  matter 
of  course ;  but  the  only  testimony  she  was  ever  known  to 
offer  was  delivered  in  a  quavering  voice,  and  always  in 
the  same  words — "Brothers  and  sisters,  pray  for  me." 

Even  some  of  the  church  members  admitted  that  she 
needed  praying  for — though  it  is  doubtful  if  they  ever 
followed  up  the  admission  with  a  supplication.  Not  be 
cause  of  her  sins  did  she  need  praying  for ;  bless  you, 
no.  She  was  so  far  from  sinning  that  ''She  didn't  know 
she  had  a  soul  of  her  own,"  Sister  Grimes  declared ;  Sis 
ter  Smilley  added:  "An'  if  she  knew  she  had  one  she 
wouldn't  dast  t'  say  it  when  Hump  an*  Martha  could  hear 
her,  or  they'd  hev  it  outen  her." 

The  happiest  day  in  Herman  Plummer's  life  was  that 
on  which  Martha  gave  her  first  "testimony"  touching  the 
wonderful  power  it  had  taken  from  the  fountain-head 
of  all-power  to  hold  her  back  from  the  temptations  and 
snares  set  for  her  feet.  In  her  father's  estimation,  the 
splendor  of  Martha's  public  professions  centered  in  the 
sharp  darts  she  threw  amongst  the  youngsters  who  on 
every  occasion  pushed  their  levity  as  far  as  their  parents 
would  permit — and  sometimes  they  forgot  the  line,  to 
find  the  rod  at  a  later  hour. 

This  religion  of  wrath,  with  the  full  flames  of  hell 
playing  ever  before  the  eyes  of  those  who  didn't  care  to 
get  what  Hump  had,  suited  some  of  the  congregation, 
while  others  grew  restless  while  forced  to  nose  its  fumes. 
Certain  preachers  and  elders  began  to  avoid  the  Plummer 
home.  As  the  church  stood  on  Plummer  ground,  this  al 
most  open  avoidance  of  the  most  religious  man  in  the 
neighborhood  served  to  further  divide  the  church.  In  the 
end  the  community  had  two  churches.  This  division  only 
intensified  the  labor  of  Herman  Plummer  to  uproot  the 
infidels  who  believed  a  Catholic  could  go  to  heaven,  or 
that  any  place  this  side  of  the  literal  hell  was  hot  enough 
for  such  folks  as  Universalists,  Unitarians  and  other  lib 
eral  faiths.  And  he  proved  his  case,  by  an  appeal  to  the 
book  of  books. 

Martha's  religious  armor  was  fitted  to  her  for  life  on 
the  day  that  silly,  little  Jane  Young  told  her  "No  young 


DAUGHTER.  23 

people  ever  go  to  your  old  church  any  more,  'less  it's  to 
hear  your  father  belch  hell-fire  and  make  a  fool  of  his- 
self  generally." 

From  that  day  on  Martha  became  a  close  disciple  of 
her  father,  and  bent  every  energy  to  the  task  of  making 
religion  a  thing  for  sane  folk  to  shudder  at.  Several 
years  after  her  father's  death,  Martha  chancing  to  hear  a 
wandering  Baptist  preaching  the  same  pure  and  unde 
nted  damnation  her  father  believed  in,  decided  forthwith 
that  the  Baptist  church  should  henceforth  have  her  sup 
port.  We  have  all  heard  the  old  saw :  "One  swallow 
does  not  make  a  summer,"  so,  too,  Martha  later  discov 
ered  that  one  preacher  does  not  make  a  ministry — in  the 
Baptist  faith. 

How  it  came  about  that  fun-loving  "Jed"  Holcomb 
ever  turned  his  eyes  toward  Martha  Plummer,  you  will 
have  to  guess.  It  is  recorded  in  his  book  of  life  that  he 
rode  over  to  the  Plummer  home  one  Sunday  afternoon 
and  never  rode,  drove,  or  walked  anywhere  else  any 
Sunday  after  that  until  he  had  married  Martha.  It  is 
also  recorded,  in  that  selfsame  book  of  life,  that  she 
snatched  him  as  a  brand  from  the  burning;  that  for  a 
year  before  marriage,  and  ten  long  years  thereafter, 
he  listened  to  "Old  Hump's"  exhortations,  confessions, 
and  expostulations — then  the  good  Lord  took  pity  on 
him  and  took  "Hump"  home  to  glory,  or  disposed  of 
him  in  some  other  fashion.  It  is  also  recorded  that  Mrs. 
Plummer  and  "Jed"  seemed  to  "git  along  amazin'  well 
when  they  was  alone  together,"  which  leads  us  to  hope 
that  "Jed's"  sacrifice  was  not  entirely  lost  to  the  world. 


CHAPTER   III. 

A  WORKER'S  HOME. 

In  a  town  of  fifteen  hundred  inhabitants,  located  in 
central  Illinois,  back  from  the  public  square  but  three 
short  blocks,  stands  a  modest  cottage.  Behind  we  catch 
a  glimpse  of  garden  that  reminds  us  strongly  of  a  gar 
den  in  which  we  labored  happily  when  a  boy.  Within 
this  modest  cottage,  the  home  of  William  Harris,  all 
is  neat  and  sweet  and  clean.  No  works  of  art 
adorn  the  wails;  unless  the  "premium  chromos,"  of  a 
decade  ago,  are  works  of  art.  No  carpets  with  a  velvet 
nap  that  deadens  footfalls,  as  does  old  earth's  great  carpet 
of  green,  are  on  these  floors ;  plain  rag  and  ingrain  suf 
fice.  Nor  did  the  furniture  that  fills  these  six  rooms,  when 
new,  cost  one  half  as  mudi  as  the  massive  dining  table 
the  Hon.  Horace  Holden  imported  from  the  palace  of  a 
wornout  prince  of  France — no,  the  transportation  charges 
on  that  Holdon  table  cost  more.  But  there  is  something 
within  these  wooden  walls  that  challenges  the  world's 
attention,  now  as  never  before.  True  worth  abides  be 
neath  this  roof;  the  homely  virtues  of  the  common  life 
find  lodgment  here,  and  righteousness  and  love  have  here 
a  home.  When  the  world  needs  men,  strong  men,  she 
comes  to  such  homes  as  this,  and  in  her  hands,  a-tremble 
with  the  dread  of  vice  and  crime  left  festering  on  her 
seats  of  power,  she  bears  the  chaplet  of  laurel— her  gift 
in  time  of  need  to  the  sons  of  sweet,  and  simple-hearted 
mothers. 

It  mattered  not  what  trouble  entered  a  home  in  this 
little  city,  the  first  cry  of  those  in  distress  was  for  the 
ministering  hands,  the  sweet  presence,  of  Mary  Harris ; 
a  mother  of  labor ;  a  helpmeet  of  man ;  an  upbearer  of 
the  church  of  Christ. 

With  all  the  cares  a  normal  soul  finds  to  grow  upon, 
Mary  Harris  put  on  new  beauties  as  days  were  added  to 
her  life.  At  twenty,  when  William  Harris  won  her,  she 

24 


A  WORKER'S  HOME  25 

was  still  unformed  in  mind.  When  they  were  married  and 
he  had  chosen  to  labor  in  the  foundry  in  this  town,  his  wife 
found  her  place  in  life.  Having  joined  a  church,  it  was 
her  good  fortune  to  sit  under  the  ministry  (as  our  moth 
ers  were  wont  to  put  it)  of  a  man  whose  whole  religion 
was  one  of  works ;  whose  heart  found  room  to  plead  the 
cause  of  all  mankind.  His  sermons  dealt  with  the  ever- 
pressing  problems  of  the  common  life,  and  to  drive  home 
his  teachings  he  insisted  that  Christ's  parables  were  liv 
ing  things,  dealing  with  literal  truths.  He  refused  to 
look  upon  God  as  an  avenger.  He  pleaded  for  the  regen 
eration  of  the  whole  man,  refusing  to  accept  lip  service, 
or  to  countenance  a  "profession"  that  did  not  bring  forth 
fruit  meet  for  repentance.  To  him  life,  the  years  that 
fly,  were  all  in  all.  The  man,  to  merit  the  salvation  he 
proclaimed,  must  needs  be  a  man.  The  pocket-kodak 
Christianity  of  self-seekers,  who  mask  their  batteries  of 
greed  behind  a  symbol  of  the  ultimate,  the  supreme  sacri 
fice,  was  denounced  in  words  that  burned.  Creeds  to  this 
minister  were  but  yokes  in  which  cattle  Tnig'ht  be  driven 
to  pull  the  car  of  a  greedy  ecclesiasticism.  The  dogmas 
of  theologians,  in  this  man's  mind,  served  but  to  weaken 
the  beautiful  truths  of  the  plain  gospel  of  love.  He 
deprecated — nay  he  condemned — the  ostentatious  organ 
ization  of  banded  charitable  institutions,  holding  that  if 
"religion  is  to  do  good,"  and  the  majority  of  the  people 
are  religious,  the  need  for  charity  will  constantly  grow 
less  as  religion  manifests  its  power  before  man.  In  deal 
ing  with  the  young  his  stand  was  just  as  pronounced. 

A  new  member  came  into  his  congregation,  by  letter, 
and  brought  with  her  all  the  "thou  shalt  not's"  of  a  dis 
tant  church.  Questioning  the  attitude  of  the  church 
toward  the  gaieties  of  the  younger  members  she  had  gone 
to  this  man,  and  he  had  agreed  to  preach  upon  "The 
Children  We  Love." 

This  sermon  will  go  with  Mary  Harris,  and  a  few 
other  hearers,  through  all  the  vicissitudes  of  life,  and 
as  they  close  their  eyes  in  death  "The  Children  We 
Love"  will  still  be  with  them. 

"Brothers  and  sisters,"  the  minister  said  as  he  stood 
before  his  congregation,  "I  have  promised  to  preach  to 
you  tonight  upon  a  theme  as  old  as  motherhood — a  theme 
that,  in  its  beauty  and  solemnity,  causes  me  to  hesitate 


26  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

as  I  seek  words  with  which  to  clothe  it — The  Children 
We  Love.  How  many  of  us  love  our  children?  How 
many  of  us  have  measured  the  depths  of  love?  How 
many  of  us  meet  the  duties,  the  sacrifices  love  demands  ? 

"Love  is  a  sublime  force,  that  is  and  yet  is  not  akin 
to  passion.  A  supreme  sacrifice,  offering  its  all  upon  a 
burning  altar  and  asking  not  anything  in  return.  A  glo 
rious,  voluptuous,  well-filled  presence  that  may  feed  upon 
a  barren  desert  and  still  outlive,  outshine,  outserve  selfish 
ness  enthroned  in  a  fat  land.  Who  would  measure  love 
with  a  tape,  set  its  boundaries  upon  earth,  or  name  its 
limitations  beyond  the  portals  of  death  ? 

"Love  is  all,  and  in  all.  Love  is  charity,  and  passion, 
and  hope,  and  faith,  and  seeking,  and  sacrifice,  all  in  one 
great  crucible  tried  by  the  fire  of  life.  What  is  the  meas 
ure  of  our  loving? 

"  The  Children  We  Love'— Is  the  child  that  comes  to 
your  home  regretted,  a  child  of  love  ?  Does  love  prompt 
suspicion?  Does  suspicion  beget  charity? 

"All  the  religion  you  have  within  your  heart  tonight 
is  pure  love,  and  if  love  requited,  is  joy,  complete  joy; 
then  you  who  profess  religion  should  look  upon  the  chil 
dren  we  love  with  all  charity,  all  hope  and  trust. 

"Let  my  people  dance  before  me,  saith  the  Lord  of 
hosts,  for  today  is  the  day  of  deliverance.  When  we 
enter  the  presence  of  our  souls  if  there  is  in  our  hearts 
either  hatred,  anger  or  malice  against  one  of  these  little 
ones  then  our  prayers  shall  defile  us. 

"Childhood  is  the  springtime  of  life,  when  its  rarest 
blossoms  come  to  light.  The  very  garden  of  God  cen 
ters  in  the  groups  of  merry  children  who  congregate  to 
learn  the  first  great  lesson  of  the  passion  of  Calvary — 
to  learn  how  to  live,  to  love,  to  labor,  and  to  wait  the 
passing  of  the  flower  of  youth  into  the  full  ripe  fruitage 
of  manhood  and  womanhood. 

"You  who  think  that  love  must  rule  with  a  rod  of 
iron,  beware!  You  who  expect  other  manifestation  of 
religion  in  youth  than  the  religion  of  living  up  the  days 
when  honey  drips  from  every  opening  flower,  and 
laughter,  free  as  the  clouds  that  cross  our  skies,  fills  up 
the  merry  measure  of  the  day,  are  treading  upon  danger 
ous  ground.  Bring  me  the  child  who  has  confessed 
Christ  and  taken  upon  its  shoulders  the  weight  of  the 


A  WORKER'S  HOME  27 

world's  growing  load  of  sin,  and  you  bring  to  me  a 
flower  plucked  from  God's  garden  to  be  transplanted  to 
live  or  die  within  a  flower  pot  of  your  choosing. 

"Are  there  wolves  about  that  you  seek  to  herd  the 
children  you  love  within  the  portals  of  the  church?  Yea, 
yea,  there  are  wolves  who  rend  the  flesh  of  children, 
wolves  who  feed  upon  the  sweet  blood  of  our  young 
daughters,  wolves  who  poison  the  springs  from  which 
our  youth  drink — wolves! 

"What  are  you  doing  my  brother,  my  sister,  to  ex 
terminate  the  wolves  who  live  in  your  midst  and  feed 
upon  those  we  love  ?  To  rob  childhood  of  its  freedom,  its 
song  of  heaven-born  melody,  to  fence  it  in  behind  a  wall 
of  'don'ts,'  to  invest  it  with  the  name  of  Christian,  to 
organize  it  into  leagues  or  bands  in  the  hope  to  sustain 
its  virtue  and  ripen  its  honor,  is  but  to  admit  the  greater 
failure. 

"My  religion,  your  religion,  is  in  the  balance  today. 
Either  the  sword  of  faith  shall  prevail  against  the  wolves 
I  see  prowling  in  a  Christian  land,  and  these  children  of 
ours  shall  come  into  their  inheritance,  or  this  church, 
this  religion,  will  go  down  to  ruin  when  the  wolves  wax 
strong  enough  to  dispute  your  right  to  protect  the  chil 
dren  you  love  even  within  the  walls  of  your  home.  What 
are  the  rights  of  the  child?  What  is  this  inheritance  of 
which  I  speak  ?  Listen — here  is  all  of  my  religion,  all  of 
my  politics,  all  of  my  philosophy  of  life : 

"The  child  by  right  of  birth  shall  have,  to  the  full  of 
its  need,  of  all  the  wealth  accumulated  by  the  labor  of 
those  who  have  struggled  for  mastery  over  the  material 
world,  and  of  all  the  knowledge  man  has  gathered  in  the 
struggle  of  the  races — and  this  child — all  children — shall 
have  all  of  these  things  upon  which  to  build  their  lives, 
without  money  and  without  price.  To  deny  this  right  of 
the  children  to  participate,  to  the  fullest  extent  of  their 
individual  needs,  in  all  things  of  worth  stored  upon  this 
earth  of  ours  today,  on  account  of  birth,  parentage  or 
racial  extraction,  is  to  deny  the  very  existence  of  the 
Christ  ethic. 

"If  you  believe  the  wolves  who  fatten  upon  the  heri 
tage  of  our  children  are  sapping  the  very  foundations  of 
the  social  order — then  exterminate  them  and  the  religion 


28  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

of  our  youth  will  be  symbolical  of  purity,  in  ages  yet 
unborn. 

"You  who  lift  your  hands  against  the  children  who 
disobey  your  imperfect  laws — take  thought.  Your  obe 
dience  to  laws  your  added  years  have  given  you  oppor 
tunity  to  understand,  is  but  halting ;  what  right  have  you 
to  strike?  You,  who  are  yet  ignorant  of  many  things, 
who  meet  punishment  for  violating  laws  of  nature,  of 
which  you  have  been  willfully  ignorant,  through  long 
years — look  at  this  child. 

"A  stranger,  in  a  strange  world,  given  over  to  wonder 
and  by  nature  made  inquisitive.  He  has  to  learn,  and  you 
who  are  responsible  for  the  coming  of  this  child ;  in  your 
blindness  lie  to  him,  evade  his  questions,  and  build  lie 
upon  lie  for  your  undoing.  Mark  you,  a  normal  child 
of  four  is  keener  of  intellect,  more  retentive  of  memory, 
more  persistent  in  seeking  knowledge,  more  able  to 
judge  man's  true  worth,  than  the  majority  of  you  of 
older  growth.  And  still  you  think  to  deceive  him.  What 
right  have  you  to  demand  more  from  the  child  than  you 
are  willing  to  give?  He  will  give  you  measure  for  meas 
ure — a.  lie  for  a  lie.  He  will  show  cunning  to  meet  your 
craft.  He  will  watch  your  dealings  with  others,  if  you 
are  false  to  them  you  will  have  no  right  to  weep  over  the 
loss  of  your  children's  respect,  and  condemn  them  as  un 
grateful.  You  have  lost  their  respect  because  they  know 
more  of  your  hollo wness,  your  hypocrisy,  than  the  rest 
of  the  world  knows — that  is  all. 

"Fear  not,  if  you  are  fully  worthy  of  love  you  shall 
not  be  denied.  Parentage  is  life's  supreme  test;  to  be 
worthy  of  motherhood,  all  of  heaven  has  nothing  more 
to  offer  the  woman." 

This  man  ministered  and  died  long  years  before  his 
philosophy  of  life  became  a  vital  issue  in  the  land.  They 
buried  him  and  went  away  sorrowing.  Another  came, 
fresh  from  the  school  room  and  filled  with  a  religion 
drawn  from  books.  Mary  Harris  listened  to  him  for  full 
six  months ;  then  quietly  withdrew  from  the  church,  and 
gave  her  life  to  good  works. 

But  here  come  two  of  her  loved  ones.  William,  bent 
with  labor  and  the  weight  of  years,  still  bears  the  look  of 
one  who  lives  in  a  pleasant  place.  Charles,  the  youngest 
son,  now  working  by  his  father's  side  in  the  foundry,  is 


A  WORKER'S  HOME  29 

first  to  reach  the  kitchen  door  where  the  mother  stands 
beaming  with  pride  in  this,  her  baby. 

Four  children  have  gone  out  into  the  world  from  this 
home,  and  it  is  such  as  they  who  fight  the  world's  bat 
tles.  The  moral  strength  society  needs  to  guide  her  as 
she  walks  in  the  path  wherein  greed  has  digged  pitfalls 
is  nurtured  in  such  homes  as  this. 

"Hello,  mother  mine !"  Charley's  voice  comes  floating 
to  her  when  he  is  but  skirting  the  far  side  of  the  lot.  For 
answer  she  waved  her  hand  and  waited. 

"News,  mother — Winslows  want  me  after  all, 
and  I  told  Webb  tonight  that  I  would  not  be  back  in " 

"And  my  baby  is  going  to  leave  me?"  She  reached 
blindly  to  the  door  for  support,  but  before  her  hands 
could  find  this  cold  support  her  baby  boy  had  taken  her 
in  his  great,  strong  arms. 

"There,  there,  mother,  it  isn't  so  awful  bad,  is  it  dear  ? 
— not  like  going  so  far  I  couldn't  come  back,  you  know." 
With  terms  of  endearment  the  boy  tried  to  soothe  her, 
but  still  she  clung  to  him  sobbing  out  her  fears  of  the 
great  world  beyond.  The  father,  coming  up,  stood  help 
less  in  this  mother's  crisis.  Did  he  see  back,  back  beyond 
the  birth  of  this  strong-limbed  young  toiler,  into  the  heart 
of  a  mother  awaiting  the  agony?  As  he  stands  with 
misty  eyes,  is  he  following  this  sweet  mother's  patient, 
loving,  ever-leading  care  of  her  babes  ?  ?  Does  he  under 
stand  what  she  suffers — a  mother's  complete  surrender 
to  the  demands  of  a  generation  with  its  own  homes  to 
build,  its  own  battles  to  fight,  with  the  fragments  of 
wealth  and  opportunity  still  left  to  it? 

"I  know  we  talked  it  all  over,  Charles — but  it  was  not 
like  knowing  the  day.  I  didn't  think  I  would  be  such  a 
goose."  The  mother  dried  her  eyes  and  tried  to  laugh. 
"Yes,  of  course  you  must  go.  I  wouldn't  think  of  keep 
ing  you." 

"Mother,  I  knew  you  wouldn't  be  anything  but  just 
the  bravest  and  best  mother  ever."  The  boy  did  not  look 
back;  his  eyes  were  on  the  future,  and  he  told  himself  a 
hundred  times  during  that  afternoon  that  the  great  world 
of  men  was  hungry  to  do  him  honor.  Listen  to  him: 
"You  want  me  to  make  that  great  machine  of  mine  a 
success,  don't  you  mother?  And  I  will,  I  can  promise 


30  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

you  that.  And  mother,  when  I  am  rich  I'll  show  you  and 
father  the  whole  world.  Besides,  if  I  am  to  make  a  place 
for  myself  in  the  world,  I  must  get  away  from  this 
dead-alive  town." 

"Yes,  dear,"  she  had  replied,  looking  into  his  splendid 
eyes  of  brown,  all  alive  with  youth's  first  great  resolve; 
"your  place  is  where  a  good  man  may  make  the  best  use 
of  all  God  has  given  him.  Father  and  I  will  begin  a 
new  life  next  week — but  it  will  be  hard,  oh,  so  hard." 


CHAPTER    IV. 

SPIES  WANTED! 

Behind  barred  gates  and  solid  walls  of  brick  and 
stone,  an  army  of  men  and  boys  are  laboring  for  the 
three  mean  things  upon  which  man  depends  for  mere 
animal  existence.  Food,  to  replace  the  tissues  worn  to 
waste  in  yesterday's  struggle ;  shelter,  to  protect  the  body 
from  earth's  elements ;  and  clothing,  that  badge  of  higher 
being.  But  scant  room  is  there  for  the  multitude  of  other 
wants  society  imposes,  to  find  satisfaction  in  the  wage 
doled  out  to  the  workers.  Yet  the  majority  of  those  who 
enter  here  go  singing,  laughing,  or  jesting  to  their  tasks. 
Only  a  few  are  serious  without  being  sullen ;  and  the 
danger  that  lurks  behind  the  sullen  faces,  is  alike  a 
danger  to  the  jester  and  the  serious-minded  toiler  within 
the  gates. 

At  the  meeting  of  the  streets  these  walls  of  brick  and 
stone  close  upon  an  office  building,  the  home  of  the  Hoi- 
don  Foundry  Company.  Within  the  sumptuous  office  the 
president  of  the  company,  the  Hon.  Horace  Holdon,  once 
member  of  congress,  is  in  earnest  conversation  with  his 
superintendent,  Mr.  Franklin  Price,  while  the  motley 
army  of  men  and  boys  are  filing  in  at  the  gates  on  either 
street. 

"It's  too  much  to  pay  for  such  protection,"  Mr.  Hol 
don  observes  petulantly. 

"Yes,  it  is  steep.  But  when  a  man  undertakes  a  job 
like  that  he  is  practically  taking  his  life  in  his  hands — and 
then  I  don't  suppose  this  company  is  in  the  business  just 
for  it's  health."  The  superintendent  laughed. 

"I  don't  care  a  cent  about  that,  what  I  want  to  know 
is  do  you  believe  it  would  pay  us  to  put  up  the  five  hun 
dred  dollars  for  membership?" 

"I  certainly  do,  or  I  wouldn't  have  bothered  you  with 
it  a  second  time.  You  will  admit  that  I  am  pretty  close 
to  the  running  end  of  the  business,  and,  besides,  I  have 

31 


32  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

trusties  among  the  men,  who  keep  me  posted ;  the  only 
fault  I  find  with  them  is  that  the  men  are  getting  to  know 
them,  and  that  ends  their  usefulness." 

"Then  you  look  for  trouble?" 

"Not  this  year,  but  trouble,  yes.  And  I  had  thought 
this  Cleveland  scheme  a  good  one  to  push.  It's  a  good 
thing  if  it  fails.  It  costs  us  but  five  hundred,  and  if  it's 
organized,  we  will  have  the  making  and  breaking  of  la 
bor  troubles  in  our  own  hands.  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Holdon, 
the  devil  himself  couldn't  have  hatched  a  better  scheme  to 
offset  the  growing  power  of  the  unions." 

"Suppose  we  grant  the  utility  of  the  scheme,"  said 
Holdon,  taking  up  a  letter,  "there  are  still  other  consid 
erations.  What  guarantee  have  we  that  this  company, 
which  bargains  to  furnish  spies  and  sell  the  secrets  of  the 
unions,  and  make  strikes  to  our  order,  may  not  in  turn 
sell  us  out?" 

"Every  guarantee,  a  common  interest,  for  one  thing." 

After  a  moment  >of  silence  the  magnate  looked  up  to 
say,  "I  see,  so  you  look  for  trouble  in  the  future,  and  like 
a  wise  man  are  planning  to  be  forearmed.  You  believe 
the  organization  of  this  Corporations'  Protective  Asso 
ciation  will  serve  our  ends?" 

"I  do.  In  other  plants  the  men  are  piling  into  the 
unions  like  sheep  going  over  a  fence,  and  you  know  what 
that  means,  within  the  year  we  will  have  committees  in 
this  office  representing  the  men." 

"What  men?"  the  president  demanded  angrily. 

"Oh,  the  moulders  and  machinists,  the  others  will 
follow  later." 

"Why,  man,  they  are  the  backbone  of  the  works." 

"Yes." 

"We  can't  have  trouble,  Price."  Holdon  paused, 
thought  better  of  it  and  asked,  "Are  you  sure  of  this?" 

"Positive." 

"Well,  well,  well — say  Price,  if  it  ever  comes  to  a 
show-down  you  give  them  just  as  little  show  as  a  snow 
ball  has  in  Tophet,  and  it'll  suit  me."  He  turned  to  the 
superintendent  and  concluded  the  interview  by  saying : 
"As  you  go  out  send  Moses  in,  and  remember,  we  must 
avoid  trouble,  our  contracts  are  too  valuable  and  we  have 
little  time  margin  on  them.  I  suppose  if  the  men  knew 
this  they'd  hustle  to  shake  the  tree.  Well,  they  won't  get 


SPIES  WANTED!  33 

many  plums  while  Price  is  in  the  neighborhood  without 
fighting  for  them,"  was  Holdon's  comment  as  the  super 
intendent  went  out. 

Moses  Webster  had  been  a  stenographer  at  Holdon's 
for  five  years  and  had  lately  been  transferred  to  the 
auditing  department.  When  he  entered  the  private  office, 
the  first  call  he  had  ever  had  to  that  sanctum  of  business 
acumen,  his  heart  was  troubled.  A  wife  and  two  little 
tots  depended  upon  him  for  their  existence.  A  salary  of 
sixteen  dollars  per  week,  eaten  as  fast  as  earned,  gave 
him  every  right  to  dread  the  outcome  of  an  interview  that 
might  entail  enforced  idleness,  and  that  meant  want  from 
the  first  day,  grim,  staring  want — unless  he  applied  to  his 
foster  mother,  and  tl^at,  he  told  himself,  he  would  never 
do,  although  she  would  gladly  help  him. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Webster,  have  a  c'hair  and  a 
cigar.  I  want  to  have  a  confidential  talk  with  you/'  The 
Hon.  Horace  Ho.lton  was  at  nis  best. 

But  who  will  wonder  that  Moses  Webster  was  too 
nonplussed  to  articulate,  much  less  sit  down.  For  years 
he  had  seen  stenographers,  clerks,  bookkeepers,  office 
boys  and  day  laborers,  enter  by  the  door  he  had  just 
closed  behind  him  and  in  a  few  brief  minutes  come  forth, 
changed,  having  lost  their  jobs.  For  the  time  being  they, 
like  the  drug  fiend  denied  his  dope,  had  lost  their  hold 
upon  life.  Yet  here  he  was  with  a  cigar  in  his  shaking 
fingers. 

"Take  that  arm-chair,  Mr.  Webster."  As  he  renewed 
the  invitation  a  smile  of  comprehension  crossed  the  em 
ployer's  full  blooded  lips, — and  he  hastened  to  reassure 
this  citizen  of  ours. 

"I  just  had  a  talk  with  Price," — he  lied  like  a  gentle 
man  with  his  next  breath, — "and  as  a  result  of  our  con 
versation  about  you  I  have  decided  to  raise  your  wages 
— we  want  to  have  our  help  satisfied,  if  that  can  be  done 
within  reason.  Let's  see ;  Price  mentioned  it,  but  it  has 
slipped  my  memory,  how  much  do  you  get  now?"  A 
smile  that  had  done  duty  in  many  a  close  place  helped  his 
auditor  to  find  his  tongue. 

"Sixteen  dollars  per  week,  Mr.  Holdon,  since  Price 
put  me  in  Smith's  place." 

"Yes,  yes,  and  you  have  a  family?" 

"Yes  sir,  a  wife  and  two  little  ones." 


34  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

"Well,  well;  why  bless  me,  don't  you  smoke?"  For 
answer  Moses  lit  his  cigar,  and  the  magnate  went  on,  "I 
thought  you  did.  You  will  find  that  a  pretty  good  weed, 
and  if  we  agree  today  you  will  always  find  the  box  open." 

'Thank  you,"  the  wondering  employe  replied. 

"Yes,  yes.  Well,  let's  get  down  to  business.  You  see 
it's  this  way,  Mr.  Webster ;  I  am  away  a  great  deal,  and 
when  I  am  here  there's  a  mountain  of  work  piled  on  my 
desk.  Of  course  you  can  understand  that  a  great  deal 
of  it  is  of  such  a  character  that  I  cannot  allow  it  to  go 
through  the  ordinary  channels,  it's — well,  confidential,  or 
personal,  let  us  say.  This  being  the  case,  I  decided  to 
offer  you  a  position  here  in  my  office.  I  must  have  a 
man  who  is  absolutely  safe." 

A  pair  of  keen  black  eyes  measured  Moses  as  he 
answered :  "Yes  sir,  I  believe  I  follow  you." 

"I  had  thought,  if  you  would  consider  this  proposition, 
to  offer  you — what  was  it  Price  suggested?  ?  Let  me 
see — well,  I  don't  recall  the  figure.  Now,  what  would 
you  suggest?"  And  still  that  smile. 

"Why,  really,  Mr.  Holdon,  I  don't  like  to  set  a  price, 
though  I  assure  you  I  feel  honored,  and  will  do  my  very 
best  to  deserve  your  confidence." 

"Well,  well,  it  really  doesn't  matter  what  Price's  fig 
ure  was.  I  believe  you  will  be  worth  twenty  dollars  per 
week  to  me — and  if  that  is  satisfactory  I  will  put  you  to 
work  right  now — and  give  you  a  little  surprise  for  the 
wife  as  well."  Reaching  into  a  pocket  he  extracted  a  roll 
and  held  out  a  bill.  "You  know  the  Bible  parable  of 
the  Master  of  the  vineyard  and  the  men  he  hired  ?  Some 
came  in  the  morning,  some  at  noon,  and  others  at  the 
eleventh  hour,  yet  they  all  received  the  same  pay.  This 
is  the  eleventh  hour  of  the  week,  we  might  say,  and 
here's  ten  dollars  to  add  to  your  wages." 

Moses  could  but  lamely  stammer  his  gratitude  as  he 
pocketed  the  gift  and  sat  down  to  the  typewriter  and 
took  this  letter,  his  first  assignment  of  work  on  his  new 
job  with  the  Holdon  Foundry  Company,  a  part  of  a  great 
system  of  concentrating  units  of  industry: 


SPIES  WANTED!  35 


Corporations'  Protective  Association, 
Cleveland,  Ohio. 
Chicago, 


Gentlemen — Through  kindness  of  your  Mr.  James, 
we  have  had  our  attention  called  to  your  most  excellent 
undertaking.  You  will  find  herewith  a  draft  (No.  2792) 
Chicago  Exchange,  drawn  to  your  order,  for  five  hundred 
dollars  ($500.00),  same  to  cover  cost  of  membership  in 
your  Association. 

We  understand  that,  in  event  of  your  perfecting  the 
organization  of  the  Protective  with  at  least  one  hundred 
members,  within  one  year  from  date  of  your  prospectus, 
we  are  entitled  to  have  the  services  of  two  of  your  men, 
from  any  trade  specified,  without  additional  cost  to  us, 
for  a  period  of  four  weeks. 

Please  let  us  know  at  your  earliest  convenience  at 
how  early  a  date  you  could  supply  us  with  two  men — ma 
chinist  and  moulder — union  men  and  good  workmen. 
We  could  use  them  to  advantage  at  this  time. 

Trusting  the  draft  inclosed  will  answer  fully  for  our 
confidence,  and  hearty  good  wishes  for  the  success  of 
your  much  needed  institution, 

We  are  yours,  etc. 

As  Holdon  ceased  dictating  he  leaned  forward  in 
!his  chair.  "Just  add  another  word,  Mr.  Webster.  Tell 
them  not  to  use  our  firm's  name,  and  to  send  all  com 
munications  in  plain  envelopes  marked  "personal"  and 
addressed  to  me,  here  at  the  office." 

When  Moses  had  mailed  the  letter  he  took  time  to 
ask  himself  this  question :  "What  can  Holdon  want  with 
union  men?  has  he  had  a  change  of  heart?"  This  was 
the  only  fly  in  the  ointment.  So  one  laborer,  at  least,  went 
forth  from  the  office  that  evening  dreaming  as  do  those 
who  lave  their  brains  in  the  fumes  of  the  seductive  poppy. 


CHAPTER   V. 

JOEL  TAKES  THE  MONEY.       . 

"Here,  Beatrice,  is  a  check  for  an  even  two-hundred," 
the  Hon.  Horace  Holdon  announced,  drawing  a  slip  of 
paper  from  his  bill  book,  as  Beatrice,  Joel,  and  Mr.  C. 
Augustus  Wetherby  entered  the  parlor/  on  the  second 
day  after  that  scene  in  the  Holdon  library,  narrated  a 
few  chapters  back. 

Turning  to  Mr.  Wetherby,  Mr.  Holdon  explained: 
"My  daughter  is  greatly  interested  in  the  poor,  and  while 
I  am  not  in  full  sympathy  with  her  work,  at  least  with 
a  part  of  it,  she  is  so  wrapped  up  in  it  that  I  have  to 
humor  her." 

"I  am  sure,"  Mr.  Wetherby  replied,  bowing  to 
Beatrice,  "whatever  c'harity  Miss  Holdon  honors  with  her 
preference  is  most  highly  honored.  May  I  inquire  what 
organizations  you  patronize,  Miss  Holdon?" 

"None,  I  assure  you,"  Beatrice  smiled. 

"But  surely — I  don't  understand.  Your  father  pro 
duces  a  check,  and  assures  us  you  devote  money  freely 
to  charity,  and " 

"I  am  my  own  organization,  begging  committee,  ad 
visory  board,  local  agent,  secretary,  treasurer,  mission 
ary,  press  agent  and  president,"  and  added  as  she  took  a 
seat,  "in  the  full  capacity  of  all  these  several  departments 
of  my  charity  organization  I  desire  to  thank  Mr.  Holdon 
for  his  generous  offer,  and  assure  him  I  have  no  im 
mediate  need  for  funds,  as  I  have  called  in  some  loans 
within  the  last  two  days  and  so  have  enough  means  to 
meet  the  immediate  and  pressing  needs  of  the  organiza 
tion." 

The  Hon.  Horace  was  vexed,  but  still  held  the  check 
in  his  hand.  Joel  whistled,  and  looked  hard  at  his 
spirited  sister.  The  visitor  showed  his  surprise  as  he 
said :  "Well,  that's  a  new  one.  I've  been  giving  to  all 
sorts  of  charities  until  the  old  man — my  father,  I  mean 

36 


JOEL  TAKES  THE  MONEY  37 

— has  come  to  look  upon  my  visits  to  his  office  as  the 
visits  of  a  chanty  solicitor.  About  all  he  asks  me  is, 
'How  much  this  time,  Charles?'  and  if  I  start  to  tell 
him  I  am  not  looking  for  funds  he  seems  really  sur 
prised.  And  would  you  believe  it,  when  I  do  start  in  to 
tell  him  about  a  case  he  shuts  me  up  before  I  can  ex 
plain,  saying:  'Don't  spring  any  sick  kids  or  broken 
bones,  and  I  don't  want  to  hear  about  some  one  who 
must  be  sent  to  some  other  climate,  just  name  the  amount 
and  let  me  get  it  off  my  mind/  That's  the  way  the 
old — father  listens  to  my  charity  talks."  He  looked  from 
one  to  the  other  with  a  vacant  smile,  then  concluded : 
"And  here  I  find  a  whole  charity  organization  actually 
refusing  money;  I  call  that  rich." 

Holdon  motioned  to  Beatrice  to  take  the  check,  push 
ing  it  toward  her  over  the  polished  table  top,  but  the  girl 
shook  her  head. 

"If  Bee  don't  want  it,"  Joel  observed,  "and  will  in 
dorse  it,  I  can  make  use  of  it  quite  handily." 

The  father  frowned,  and  Wetherby  laughed.  "Which 
shall  it  be  Beatrice,  Joel  or  charity?"  the  father  ban 
tered. 

"It  amounts  to  the  same  thing,"  the  girl  answered  as 
she  took  the  check,  drew  a  tiny  gold  pen  from  her  bosom 
and  indorsed  it  with  one  sweep,  then  handed  it  to  Joel. 

Joel  accepted  the  check,  but  he  did  have  the  grace  to 
blush.  The  father  sat  with  a  deepening  frown  as  he  wit 
nessed  the  little  monetary  transaction,  but  did  not  com 
ment  upon  it  audibly. 

"What  charitable  organizations  do  you  favor  with 
your  patronage  ?"  the  girl  inquired  of  Wetherby  to  break 
an  awkward  silence  that  had  fallen  as  Joel  pocketed  the 
check. 

"Be  careful,  'Chuck/  Sis  is  down  on  most  of  them,  and 
believes  in  wading  about  in  the  filth  herself — she's  just 
trying  to  lead  you  into  the  shambles,"  Joel  warned  the 
guest. 

"Don't  believe  you,"  Wetherby  protested,  "Miss  Hol 
don  may  not  like  to  feed  fat  paupers'  agents,  but  I'll 
wager  any  legitimate,  charity  will  have  her  approval." 

"Good  for  you,  Mr.  Wetherby,"  Beatrice  clapped  her 
hands,  "good  for  you ;  now  I  am  more  anxious  than  ever 
to  know  what  charities  you  support." 


38  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

Wetherby  hesitated,  "Well,  er — the  list  is  a  long  one, 
Miss  Holdon,  and  if  you  don't  mind,  I'll  come  out  to 
morrow  and  we  can  go  over  it  together.  I  assure  you  if 
there  is  one  on  the  list  which  you  do  not  approve,  I'll 
lop  it  off,  and  it  won't  get  another  cent." 

Beatrice  blushed,  while  Joel  winked  openly  at  his 
father. 

"Really,"  she  protested,  "I  have  lots  of  work  planned 
for  tomorrow — two  trips  to  people  in  the  south  end, 
and •" 

"Oh,  Miss  Holdon,  let  me  go  with  you.  I've  always 
given  my  money  to  other  people  to  spend — I'd  be  de 
lighted  to  see  where  they  put  it."  Charles  Augustus 
Wetherby  was  animated.  Here  was  big  game,  and  from 
the  looks  of  things  he  was  to  have  the  help  of  the  male 
members  of  the  family  in  the  hunt. 

The  girl  looked  him  over  keenly,  questioning  his 
earnestness.  Finally  she  said  with  evident  reluctance  • 
"If  you  want  to  see  where  I  put  all  the  money  I  can 
find  you  may  come  at  9  o'clock  tomorrow  morning — now 
I  must  bid  you  good  afternoon." 

Beatrice  had  won  her  point,  and  consequently  felt  the 
•more  amiable,  if  that  were  possible.  That  check  had 
been  less  of  a  temptation  to  her  than  might  be  supposed. 
She  had  been  calling  in  loans  since  her  father  had  said 
not  another  cent  of  his  money  should  go  to  feed  Socialists 
and  the  families  of  union  men.  When  she  had  gone  over 
her  "loan  ledger"  as  she  called  the  account  book  in  which 
she  had  been  recording  her  little  loans  to  people  who 
would  not  take  a  gift,  for  three  years  past,  she  was 
surprised  to  find  how  much  money  she  had  loaned  in  that 
period  of  time.  After  careful  inquiry  she  had  gone  to  a 
number  of  those  who  had  benefited  by  her  liberality  and 
told  them  her  pressing  need  for  funds  with  which  to  help 
others  who  were  in  need. 

Beatrice  left  the  library  to  go  to  John  Bulman's. 
When  she  entered  the  crippled  boy's  room  he  looked  up 
at  her  in  such  a  questioning  way  that  she  knew  he  had 
been  told  what  a  mean  part  her  brother  had  played  in 
their  life  tragedy. 

Bending  over  him  she  put  her  fingers  on  his  lips. 
"Don't  say  a  word  to  me,  Robert — I  know  wnat  they 


JOEL  TAKES  THE   MONEY  39 

'have  told  you — it's  true,  and  it  has  made  me  wretched, 
but  you  won't  make  me  suffer  for  what  I  could  not  help, 
will  you,  Robert?" 

The  boy  gently  took  her  hand  in  his  one  well  one 
and  said :  "Nothing  they  could  ever  say  would  make  me 
believe  you  could  do  a  mean  thing." 

'That's  right,  Robert,"  she  was  beaming,  "have  faith, 
nothing  else  matters.  Faith  is  the  sweetest  flower  in 
life's  garden ;  many  an  ugly  weed  has  developed  beautiful 
blossoms  just  because  the  beautiful  flower  of  faith  cast 
its  pollen  upon  the  weed.  Have  faith,  Robert,  and  who 
knows  but  that  we  shall  be  able  to  get  you  out  into  that 
garden  before  long." 

John  Bulman  stood  at  the  door  looking  at  the  beauti 
ful  woman  as  she  bent  over  his  crippled  boy.  A  wave 
of  pain  crossed  his  face,  only  to  be  driven  back  that  the 
old,  old  expression  of  dogged  determination  might  take 
its  wonted  place. 

Turning  from  the  bed  Beatrice  saw  him  and  her  eyes 
fell,  while  hot  blushes  of  shame  chased  across  cheek  and 
neck.  She  had  often  told  herself  that  she  felt  like  a 
child  in  need  of  answers  to  many  things  when  she  was 
near  this  man  of  the  workaday  world.  Today  she  felt 
the  guilt  of  her  house  full  upon  her. 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Holdon,  a  pleasant  morning 
and  the  promise  of  a  fine  day,"  John  was  saying,  as  she 
looked  up  with  trembling  lips. 

"Let's  not  talk  about  the  weather,"  she  pleaded.  "I 
want  to  tell  you — to  tell  you " 

"You  want  to  tell  me  how  badly  you  feel  about  that 
business  at  Nixon's,"  he  assisted  her;  "come  sit  down 
and  we'll  have  it  all  over  in  a  minute." 

"Now,"  said  he  as  she  was  seated  by  the  boy's  bed,  "I 
want  to  tell  you  that  I  have  discovered  that  you  are  one 
of  the  bravest " 

"No,  no,  no,"  she  protested,  "I  am  a  coward." 

"Well,  then,"  he  smiled,  "the  bravest  coward  I  ever 
knew.  If  you  had  been  anything  less  than  brave  you 
would  not  have  come  to  us  after  you  knew  your  brother 
had  made  trouble  for  me  at  the  Nixon  plant." 

"It  was  a  mean,  contemptibly  mean  thing  to  do,"  her 
eyes  flashed,  "and  I  told  both  Joel  and  father  just  what 
I  thought  of  it." 


40  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

John's  eyes  danced,  "And  did  you  now?  I  ought  to 
beg  your  pardon  for  laughing,  Miss  Holdon,  that  I 
should,"  he  declared  stoutly,  and  laughed  again.  In  re 
ply  to  the  girl's  puzzled  look,  he  said,  "After  all  it's  only 
a  bit  of  the  great  game  we  are  playing,  and  I've  no  fault 
to  find  either  with  Nixon  or  your  brother." 

"No  fault  to  find?" 

"None,  Miss  Holdon." 

"Oh,  you  are  only  saying  that  because  you  want  to 
make  it  easy  for  me  to  forget  Joel's  heartlessness.  You 
can't  meant  it." 

"But  I  do  mean  it.  See  here,  Miss  Holdon,"  he 
stood  before  her,  "it's  like  this;  over  all  the  world  two 
great  forces  are  organizing  for  a  mighty  struggle.  Capi 
tal  to  protect  what  it  has,  and  strengthen  its  hold  upon 
the  productive  agencies  of  the  world ;  labor  to  take  what 
it  creates,  and  finally  own  the  producing  factors  in  the 
social  state.  I  am  of  the  labor  force,  and  if  I  am  intel 
ligent  enough  to  teach  my  fellow  workers  to  demand  that 
the  machinery  of  production  be  turned  over  to  them  in 
order  that  they  may  have  the  wealth  they  create  to  use  in 
their  own  homes,  I  certainly  am  dangerous  to  all  who 
are  capitalists,  or  depend  upon  capitalists  to  support  them 
while  they  live  off  the  labor  of  others.  I  knew  when  I 
decided  to  stand  for  the  worktrs  against  the  world  thai 
sooner  or  later  I  should  have  to  make  sacrifices  to  my 
faith.  But  Miss  Holdon,  I  did  not  know  how  much  would 
be  demanded  of  me  within  a  year."  As  John  thought  of 
his  dead  children,  his  crippled  boy  and  sick  wife,  his 
voice  broke,  but  thrusting  emotion  aside  he  took  up  the 
conversation.  "I  have  faith,  despite  the  many  discourage 
ments  that  come  to  one  who  fights  for  the  poor  and  ig 
norant — faith,  that  beautiful  flower  you  talked  to  Robert 
about;  and  Miss  Holdon  some  of  the  weeds  are  already 
in  bloom." 

"But  my  father  and  brother?"  Beatrice  began. 

"Don't  say  a  word,  not  a  word — as  far  as  I  know 
they  play  the  game  fair.  If  your  father  invited  his  men 
to  organize  unions,  and  told  them  Socialism  was  all  right, 
if  they  thought  so,  he  wouldn't  last  two  years  as  a  cap 
italist  in  his  present  business ;  and  as  far  as  your  brother 
is  concerned,  he  isn't  a  working  man."  The  girl  winced. 


JOEL  TAKES  THE  MONEY  4! 

''No,  I  didn't  mean  to  slur  him.  If  he's  clean  and  is 
playing  the  game  on  the  square  I  haven't  a  word  to 
say — it's  got  to  be  played  out  just  this  way " 

"You  surely  do  not  mean  that  he  had  a  right  to  go 
to  Mr.  Nixon  and  complain " 

"Yes,  I  mean  just  that.  He  had  the  right  to  go  to 
Nixon  and  protest  against  his  keeping  me  on  the  work 
if  he  believed  me  to  be  a  dangerous  man.  I  had  the  same 
right  to  go  to  your  father's  men  and  tell  them  that  the 
only  thing  they  could  do  to  end  this  war  between  capital 
and  labor  would  be  to  own  the  capital,  the  machinery  and 
the  land,  root  and  branch.  I  exercised  that  right,  and 
your  brother  did  the  thing  that  seemed  necessary  to  him 
in  order  to  counteract  my  influence  among  the  men." 

"Your  family,  Mr.  Bulman,  all  the  families  of  the 
workers,  are  so  poor — can  you  afford  to  sacrifice  them  in 
this  war,  as  you  call  it  ?°  Beatrice  asked  earnestly. 

"I  see  no  choice  in  the  matter,  Miss  Holdon,"  he  re 
plied,  then  asked :  "What  would  you  call  sacrificing  them  ? 
Are  they  not  sacrificed  day  by  day?  How  many  men 
and  boys  in  your  father's  mills  and  foundry  are  killed  or 
crippled  each  year?  Are  they  not  sacrificed?  What  be 
comes  of  their  families?  What  becomes  of  the  women 
and  children  of  the  workers'  families  ?  Look  at  my  fam 
ily — Robert  crippled  for  life,  my  two  girls  working  away 
their  youth  for  a  bare  existence,  and  all  this  for  bread 
alone.  Are  they  not  being  sacrificed  to  the  present  in 
dustrial  system,  along  with  the  millions  who  make  up  the 
army  of  labor?  Girl,  girl,  you  have  worked  faithfully 
amongst  your  father's  poorest  paid  laborers  for  years, 
through  good  times  and  bad  times;  have  you  ever  seen 
much  difference  in  their  lives?  Have  you  not  wondered 
time  and  again  how  they  could  bear  to  live  as  they 
are  forced  to  year  in  and  year  out?  Isn't  there  always 
more  and  more  who  need  help?  Isn't  there  always  suf 
fering  and  want?  Have  you  ever  thought  where  it 
would  end??" 

"I  have  only  wondered,"  the  girl  answered  slowly. 

"I  did  the  same  for  years,"  John  admitted,  smiling, 
"but  now  I  know."  The  assertion  was  positive. 

"You  know?" 

"Yes,  listen:  It  will  end  when  the  flower  of  faith 
brings  blossoms  to  a  majority  of  the  weeds  in  life's  gar- 


42  MILLS   OP'    MAMMON 

den,  and  that  time  depends  upon  how  we  cultivate  the 
flower  of  faith — faith  in  one  another,  faith  in  the  great 
future,  faith  in  democracy,  faith  in  manhood." 

"How  many  years  have  you  been  working  for  what 
you  call  the  co-operative  commonwealth?"  Beatrice  in 
quired,  as  Bulman  paused  to  hand  Robert  his  medicine. 

"Only  a  few  years,  Miss  Holdon ;  had  I  known  when 
I  was  a  young  man  that  I  should  have  a  part  in  this 
struggle  I  would  not  have  married,  for " 

"For  shame,  Mr.  Bulman,"  the  girl  interrupted  hotly, 
"to  say  that  before  Robert.  Why,  no  one  had  a  better 
right  to  marry  than  a  sober,  thrifty  man  like  you." 

"All  that  would  be  true  provided  the  society  that 
passed  upon  my  right  to  marry  would  also  defend  my 
right  to  protect  my  wife  and  children  from  such  degrad 
ing  things  as  you  see  them  surrounded  with,  to  say 
nothing  of  protecting  my  son  from  the  hungry  machines 
in  use  as  wealth  producers.  You  don't  understand  it, 
Miss  Holdon.  You  say  I  am  sober  and  industrious ;  well, 
after  twenty  years'  struggle  for  a  home  you  see  me  and 
all  I  love  in  this  world  in  poverty,  and  enmeshed  in  a 
struggle  that  can  have  no  ending  until  labor  has  won  its 
right  to  the  product  of  its  hands — ask  any  of  the  men 
who  have  kept  clean  in  politics  and  fought  the  battles 
of  the  unions  all'  these  years ;  ask  them  if  they  are  not 
poorer  today  than  they  were  ten  years  ago.  Then  look 
at  such  men  as  Lewis  and  your  father's  superintendent, 
and  a  lot  of  men  in  little  political  jobs,  they  were  labor 
men,  and  sold  out.  Some  of  them  sold  their  unions, 
others  sold  their  manhood,  their  political  opinions.  No, 
Miss  Holdon,  the  man  or  woman  who  hopes  to  stand  out 
for  the  rights  of  the  working  class  against  all  the  vice  and 
crime  and  robbery  of  labor  that  goes  on  today  must  be 
prepared  to  make  sacrifice  of  his  or  her  life." 

''But  there  must  be  a  way !  There  is  a  way !" 
Beatrice  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  there's  a  way — an  honest  square-out  way.  Let 
your  father,  Nixon,  and  all  the  other  capitalists  under 
stand  that  this  is  a  fight  to  a  finish.  Teach  labor  to  know 
that  any  compromise  of  the  issue  means  more  charity, 
more  strikes,  more  poverty,  more  crime.  Then  let  us 
all  throw  off  our  masks  and  meet  each  other  fairly  and 
squarely  upon  the  one  issue,  the  ownership  of  the  wealth 


JOEL  TAKES  THE  MONEY  43 

labor  has  created,  and  the  machinery  and  land  we  must 
have  with  which  to  create  things  we  will  need  for  to 
morrow.  Of  course,  you  will  go  on  with  your  charity 
work  until  you  know  that  a  sop  of  even  your  brand  of 
charity  cannot  end  a  class  struggle  in  the  social  order." 
John  looked  quizzically  at  the  magnate's  daughter.  "Do 
you  know,  Miss  Holdon,  in  my  estimation  it  would  be 
just  as  well  if  you  left  most  of  the  people  you  help  to 
starve  ?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Bulman,  that  is  horrid,"  she  protested. 

"Sounds  so,  doesn't  it  ?"  he,  admitted  with  a  whimsi 
cal  smile,  "When  you've  been  taught  to  believe  charity 
to  the  poor  is  a  part  of  religion." 

"Mr.  Bulman,"  the  girl  arose,  "  I  have  always  re 
spected  you,  yet  I  have  known  you  looked  upon  my  work 
amongst  the  poor  as  foolish,  but  I  really  thought  your  ob 
jection  was  based  upon  what  you  had  seen  of  professional 
charity — I  thought  you  misunderstood  me." 

"Lord  love  you,  child,  I  never  misunderstood  you. 
You  are  one  of  the  flowers  of  faith ;  you  will  come  to  see 
the  sacrifice  demanded  of  you  in  time.  As  soon  as  you 
come  to  know  that  the  individual  no  longer  counts  as  an 
individual,  unless  he  has  either  greater  capacity  for  so 
cial  service  or  for  social  sin  than  the  average  man,  the 
rest  will  be  easy.  The  individual  must  ever  be  measured, 
so  long  as  man  holds  to  the  path  of  progress,  by  the  at 
titude  he  assumes  to  the  social  problems  of  his  time ; 
this  and  this  alone  gives  us  a  line  upon  the  worth  of  the 
individual.  History  is  written  alone  about  the  lives  of 
men  and  women  who  have  served  both  truth  and  error 
in  the  great  crises  of  time.  I  do  not  misunderstand  you, 
child;  I  know  your  charity  is  charity;  and  if  the  rest 
of  the  world's  charity  were  as  sweet,  as  worthy,  as  pure, 
there  would  be  no  need  for  it.  Within  two  or  three  years 
your  work  would  be  done."  He  paused,  but  the  girl 
remaining  silent,  he  went  on : 

"You  do  good  because  the  system  that  gives  you 
wealth  also  produces  both  poverty  and  crime.  When  you 
learn  to  .examine  the  source  from  which  vice  and  poverty 
spring,  will  be  time  enough  for  me  to  decide  in  my  own 
mind  whether  or  not  you  are  to  bring  blossoms  to  the 
weeds,  or  just  bloom  by  yourself  while  spending  a  portion 


44  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

of  the  money  your  father  gets  from  the  things  his  workers 
produce  for  him,  while  the  weeds  grow  up  around  you 
until  they  finally  choke  out  your  life." 

"Money,  money,  money !  How  I  hate  the  very  sound 
of  that  word !"  Beatrice  lifted  her  face  flushed  with  in 
dignation.  "My  money,  father's  money,  what  difference 
can  it  make  where  my  money  comes  from,  even  if  father 
and  other  rich  men  are  opposed  to  your  politics  and 
unions?  If  I  see  suffering  in  the  homes  of  the  working- 
men  I  have  known  ever  since  I  was  a  little  tot,  am  I  to 
be  denied  the  privilege  of  helping  them,  just  because  my 
father  says  he  cannot  pay  more  wages,  or  allow  Socialists 
to  work  for  him  ?" 

"When  you  understand  the  struggle,  Miss  Holdon, 
you  would  no  more  offer  your  father's  money  to  one  of 
his  striking  workmen  than  you  would  accept  money  that 
had  been  obtained  as  the  price  of  your  family  honor. 
Your  father  is  consistent  because  he  understands  there 
jean  be  no  sentiment  in  this  struggle  for  the  world's 
wealth.  If  your  house  is  to  stand  and  you  are  to  have 
money  for  charity,  the  -workers  must  be  prevented  from 
taking  control  of  government  through  politics,  or  of  in 
dustry  through  organization." 

"Tell  me,"  the  girl  demanded,  "do  the  majority  of 
the  workers  look  upon  charity,  even  my  kind,  as  you  do  ?" 

"I  believe  they  do — tho'  they  hardly  know  why.  You 
know  how  hard  it  is  to  reach  those  amongst  us  who  need 
help  the  most?  You  also  know  the  so-called  charity  or 
ganizations  reach  more  paupers  than  deserving  poor.  So 
you  can  see  we  do  not  want  your  charity  even  when  faced 
by  dire  want — but  we  do  want  the  right  to  make  our  own 
way  in  the  world.  We  may  not  as  yet  know  how  to  give 
voice  to  that  demand,  but  we  are  learning.  And  re 
member,  when  you  meet  a  man  or  woman  who  would 
rather  starve  than  accept  even  your  charity — you  have 
met  one,  if  they  could  master  the  words,  would  say  to 
you :  "M'iss  Holdon,  your  father  and  his  friends  have  no 
right  to  drive  us  into  poverty,  then  send  you  to  us  with 
the  thing  that  will  finally  drive  a  great  number  of  us  into 
pauperism.'  " 

"Oh,  how  you  must  despise  my  work,"  her  lips  quiv 
ered,  and  great  tears  welled  up  as  she  asked :  "Do  you 
despise  me  as  well?" 


JOEL  TAKES  THE  MONEY  45 

"Despise  you,  child,  despise  you,  why  you  have  been 
an  angel  in  this  house  for  months,  even  if  we  did  not  take 
any  of  your  money,"  he  laughed  to  hide  a  deeper  feel 
ing,  "and  your  work,  as  you  call  it — "  his  eyes  sought 
hers,  that  old  quizzical  smile  playing  over  his  face.  "Did 
you  ever  see  a  sweet  faced  little  chap  playing  in  the 
dirty  street,  so  intent  upon  his  labors  as  he  heaped  to 
gether  a  pile  of  dust  that  the  next  gust  of  wind  would 
catch  up  and  scatter  to  the  farthest  corners  of  the  city — 
so  busy  that  the  roaring  traffic  of  the  street  seemed  to 
him  afar  off?" 

"Yes,  and  I  have  seen  those  little  tots  all  but  killed 
because  they  had  forgotten  that  the  street  was  not  all 
their  world,"  she  answered. 

"Exactly,"  he  replied,  "and  that  is  your  work  as  I 
see  it;  the  innocent  labor  of  a  sweet  child  in  the  world's 
great  thoroughfare.  A  work  that  may  not  endure.  When 
you  come  to  know  the  cause  of  poverty  you  will  realize 
that  I  am  right." 

"So  you  look  upon  my  work  as  that  of  a  child  in 
the  street?"  It  was  a  question,  not  a  retort.  Measuring 
him  from  head  to  foot  she  asked :  "Why  do  men  like  you 
keep  up  this  fight?  Is  it  because  you  love  the  men  you 
seek  to  have  join  your  unions  and  vote  the  Socialist 
ticket?" 

"Love  the  men,"  John  repeated  after  her,  "me  love 
them?"  Smiling  grimly,  he  plunged  on,  "I  do  not  love 
them.  As  far  as  I  am  concerned  about  them  individually 
I  would  not  shed  a  tear  if  half  of  them  were  converted 
into  fertilizer  between  this  and  tomorrow."  Keenly 
questioning  her  with  his  eyes  he  asked :  "Do  you  think 
I  go  out  on  the  street  corners  and  talk  to  the  workers, 
smug  faces,  snobs,  and  thoughtless  boys  who  congre 
gate,  because  I  love  them?  Well,  I  don't.  The  only 
thing  that  keeps  me  in  this  fight  is  this :  I  fear  the 
power  of  their  ignorance  over  my  life,  and  the  lives  of 
those  I  love." 

"You  fear  the  power  of  their  ignorance  over  your  life, 
and  the  lives  of  those  you  love,"  she  repeated  after  him. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

CHARLES    AUGUSTUS'    CHARITY    LIST. 

Beatrice  Holdon  looked  out  upon  a  world  of  per 
plexities  when  she  drew  aside  the  lace  draperies  and 
sent  the  slatted  night  shades  rattling  into  their  housings 
on  the  morning  set  for  her  initiation  into  the  mysteries  of 
the  "hunt."  She  little  dreamed  that  she  was  the  quarry 
the  huntsman  had  determined  to  run  to  earth.  Had  she 
known  this,  she  would  still  have  been  ignorant  of  the 
fact  that  he  would  come  to  the  chase  armed  only  with  a 
quiver  of  lies. 

Donovan's  wife  had  told  her  the  evening  before  that 
Bulman  had  been  arrested  on  a  street  corner  for  talking 
treason.  Donovan  was  a  worker  in  Holdon's  foundry, 
and  a  staunch  Republican,  but  he  declared  Bulman's  ar 
rest  ,an  outrage  against  free  speech.  "Bulman  has  pe 
culiar  ideas  and  all  that,  but  he's  a  good  neighbor,  and  a 
man,"  he  insisted. 

Beatrice  was  worried.  That  insistent  sentence  of  Bul 
man's:  "I  fear  the  power  of  their  ignorance  over  my 
life,  and  the  lives  of  those  I  love,"  kept  repeating  itself 
in  her  mind.  That  night  in  a  dream  she  had  stood  before 
a  howling  mob  and  hurled  this  pathetic  denunciation  into 
their  weird,  upturned  faces. 

As  she  looked  down  into  the  dewy  garden  with  its 
wealth  of  early  morning  lights  and  shades  and  an  all- 
pervading  perfume  of  sweet  bloom,  she  thought  of  her 
father  and  brother.  Did  she  love  them  as  she  had  be 
fore  she  met  the  man  Bulman  ?  Was  there  a  fear  creep 
ing  into  her  life,  a  fear  that  Bulman  was  right?  Could 
it  be  possible  that  if  she  knew  the  real  cause  of  poverty 
the  desire  to  practice  charity  would  die? 

Did  it  matter  where  money  came  from,  she  asked  her 
self,  and  sat  idly  looking  out  over  the  shrubbery  while 
her  mind  wandered  at  will  over  the  many  problems  she 
had  set  herself  to  solve. 

46 


CHARLES   AUGUSTUS'   CHARITY   LIST  47 

With  a  start,  she  remembered  how  much  it  had  cost 
her  to  go  to  Bulman's  after  her  brother  had  acted  a  mean 
part — that  was  but  an  individual  case.  Bulman  denied 
the  power  of  the  individual  to  affect  anything,  move  any 
thing,  until  his  individuality  was  swallowed  up  in  the  de 
mands  of  a  great  class  in  the  social  order.  Then,  and 
then  only,  the  individuality  of  the  stronger,  abler  indi 
vidual  would  appear  above  the  heads  of  the  host  moving 
to  take  the  vantage  ground  spied  out  by  the  indivivdual ; 
but  the  individual  would  sink  to  the  level  of  the  average, 
were  it  not  that  the  host  bore  him  up  on  their  shoulders. 
Would  it  be  as  hard,  cost  as  great  a  sacrifice,  she  asked 
herself,  to  go  to  the  poor  with  her  mite  of  charity  as  it 
had  been  to  go  to  Bulman's  that  last  time,  did  she  know 
the  true  relation  between  rich  and  poor — between  wages 
and  ownership  of  the  workers'  product? 

If  Bulman  were  right,  even  her  charity  was  an  in 
sult  to  the  poor.  Jf  he  were  wrong,  she  would  convince 
him — she  considered  him  well  worth  saving.  It  was 
wretched  of  him  to  flaunt  love,  charity  and  kindliness  and 
insist  that  the  struggle  must  grow  more  bitter  as  great 
fortunes  accumulated.  His  insistence  that  sickening  filth, 
awful  crimes,  wretchedness  and  vice,  and  the  all  but 
unbearable  suffering  of  the  very  poor  must  go  on  so  long 
as  her  father  and  Bothers  took  millions  out  of  the  indus 
tries  each  year  shocked  her. 

"Oh,  it  cannot  be  true,"  she  told  herself  over  and 
over  again.  "It  cannot  be  true.  It's  too  hatefully  hard 
and  cruel.  Christ's  life  and  death  were  meant  for  more 
than  that — it  can't  be  true." 

"A  gentleman  to  see  you,"  her  maid  announced  from 
the  door. 

Getting  up  from  the  window  and  her  dreams,  Beatrice 
sent  her  compliments  and  assurance  that  she  would  be 
down  in  a  short  time.  Standing  before  the  mirror  after 
the  girl  had  gone  she  looked  beyond  the  reflection  of  her 
superb  person,  and  asked:  "Why  not  ask  him?  His 
people  are  of  the  real  aristocracy — the  aristocracy  of 
birth — while  I,  if  I  belong  at  all,  am  but  one  of  the  new 
rich.  And  Beatrice,  my  dear,  there's  a  vast  difference 
between  the  worth  of  a  family  pride  built  upon  the  lives 
of  men  and  women  who  have  been  of  worth  to  the  world 
through  long  generations  of  family  building,  and  one 


48  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

built  upon  a  difference  in  the  price  of  pork  or  pig-iron 
yesterday  and  today — anyway,  he  ought  to  know.  He's 
given  liberally  to  charity,  and  all  the  people  I  know, 
even  Joel  says  he's  too  good  to  live — I'll  ask  him." 

While  Beatrice  was  prepared  to  treat  him  as  an  oracle, 
C.  Augustus  Wetherby  was  putting  the  finishing  touches 
to  a  fixed  determination  to  win  her,  and  incidentally  the 
Holdon  millions. 

"Confounded  bore  some  of  the  fellows  would  call 
this  charity  stunt,"  he  chuckled,  "but  it's  got  several  re 
deeming  features — especially  when  the  woman  furnishes 
the  coin.  First,  it  gives  her  a  whole  lot  to  think  about 
besides  her  husband ;  next,  it  gives  him  an  opportunity  to 
develop  some  charity  work  of  his  own ;  and  that  coupled 
to  business  and  the  club  ought  to  give  a  fellow  leeway 
enough — and,  by  gad!  the  girl's  worth  it.  Got  spirit, 
good  figure,  and  stunning  good  looks,  by  gad !  And  I'm 
the  candy.  Anything  she  sees  I  see — whatever  she  wants 
done  I  do  it."  He  faced  the  door  through  which  he  ex 
pected  her  to  enter.  "My  jewel,"  he  whispered,  "I  am 
Naomi  turned  inside  out,  made  up-to-date  and  to  order. 
Your  people  shall  be  my  people,  however  much  they  may 
smell  of  onions,  garlic  and  frouzy  cheese.  Your  God 
shall  be  my  God,  even  if  he  calls  me  into  a  Free  Method 
ist  camp-meeting  where  heels  rule  higher  than  thinking 
machines.  I  am  yours — a  sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  love, 
and •" 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Wetherby."  The  voice  came 
from  behind  him,  and  he  was  disconcerted. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.  Did  my  sudden  salutation 
startle  you?" 

"I  assure  you  it  did — it  was  as  though  the  goddess 
of  the  morning  had  as'sumed  shape  and  voice."  Noting 
her  quick  frown,  he  hurried  on,  as  he  offered  his  hand, 
"You  see  I  was  so  absorbed  in  the  thought  of  meeting 
upon  common  ground,  one  who  believes  in — in — in — well, 
to  use  the  plain  every  day  term — believes  in  charity." 

"And  you  really  believe  in  charity  ?"  Her  whole  heart 
was  in  the  question. 

"Why  yes,  don't  you?" 

"Oh,  yes ;  I  have  for  years ;  but  some  people  say  such 
horrid  things  against  it;  while  so  many  who  claim  to 


CHARLES  AUGUSTUS*   CHARITY   LIST  49 

know  all  about  it  say  in  just  so  many  words  that  my 
work  is  not  charitable  at  all " 

"They're  beasts!"  the  gallant  lover  exploded,  and 
begged  pardon  the  next  instant:  "I  mean  they're  worse 
than — why  Miss  Holdon  your  work  is — is — in  fact,  is 
above  reproach."  He  drew  his  handkerchief  from  the 
pocket  from  which  it  peeped  so  gracefully,  and  indus 
triously  wiping  his  ruddy  countenance  sought  to  get 
back  to  earth. 

"I  am  glad  to  have  your  approval,"  his  hostess  as 
sured  him  as  she  led  the  way  to  the  library. 

When  they  were  seated  she  went  on :  "I  thought  we 
might  as  well  spend  an  hour  or  so  on  your  charitable 
organizations  before  going  out.  You  see,  the  women  will 
not  have  their  work  done  up  much  before  10  o'clock,  and 
by  that  time  I  can  have  a  pretty  fair  understanding  of  the 
difference  between  your  pet  charities  and  my  own  work." 

Mr.  Wetherby  sat  limp  by  the  great  library  table, 
occasionally  lifting  his  eyes  to  the  girl  on  the  other  side. 
"Did  you  bring  the  list  along?"  she  inquired,  smiling 
sweetly  across  at  him. 

"Oh  yes,  certainly,"  he  thrust  a  hand  into  his  pockets 
one  after  another  and  finally  produced  the  document. 

"Now  don't  you  think  if  you  were  to  let  me  take  the 
list  and  run  through  it,  you  could  explain  the  aims,  ob 
jects  and  methods  of  work  employed  by  these  organiza 
tions?"  She  reached  for  the  paper.  He  hesitated,  but 
being  unable  to  formulate  an  excuse  for  refusing  her  re 
quest,  reluctantly  handed  it  to  her. 

Beatrice  took  the  list,  comprising  some  two  dozen  or 
ganizations.  Some  of  them  were  quite  well  known  to  her, 
and  as  she  read  her  face  grew  radiant  with  hope.  This 
young  man  was  a  charity  worker.  He  would  understand 
her  troubles.  He  should  be  the  link  necessary  to 
strengthen  her  against  Bulman's  attacks. 

"My,  you  are  a  worker!'  She  looked  her  admiration 
and  entirely  misunderstood  his  blushes.  "And  do  you 
support  all  these  institutions?"  she  asked. 

"Yes/'  he  answered. 

"It's  lovely,  perfectly  lovely.  Why,  Mr.  Wetherby, 
I  never  thought  of  any  one  being  so  liberal  in  his  support 
of  sweet  charity."  With  eyes  intent  upon  the  end  of  her 


50  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

right  forefinger  as  it  slowly  checked  off  his  hastily  pre 
pared  charities,  he  was  startled  by  her  next  speech. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Wetherby,  I've  found  something.  Here's 
Andrews  Woman's  Home  on  your  list — now,  I  wonder 
how  much  you  have  given  them  ?"  The  visitor  moved  un 
easily  in  his  chair. 

"How  much?  You  surely  know — why,  I  can  tell  to 
a  dollar  what  each  of  my  cases  has  cost  me." 

"Of  course  I  know,"  C.  Augustus  replied  quickly. 
Here  was  something  he  thought  he  might  play  to  the 
limit  and  s'he  couldn't  catch  him.  "You  see  I  couldn't 
name  the  figure  offhand  without — well,  I  believe  I  do 
know,  for  a  wonder.  Yes,  I  gave  them  fifty  dollars  six 
months  ago,  and  last  month  they  came  to  me  with  a  poor 
mouth  and  I  put  up  a  cool  hundred." 

"You  did !"  she  exclaimed.  Getting  up  hurriedly  she 
left  the  table  and  soon  returned  with  a  large  scrap- 
book.  "Well,"  she  declared  triumphantly,  "you  were 
robbed  of  just  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  Read  that." 

For  a  year  Beatrice,  in  defense  of  her  system  of 
giving,  had  been  gathering  every  scrap  of  evidence  pub 
lished  in  the  press  of  the  city  relative  to  charity  frauds. 
The  volume  of  evidence  she  handed  across  the  table  to 
her  guest  told,  in  a  clipping  at  the  end  of  her  finger,  of 
the  raiding  of  the  "Andrews  Home,"  and  laid  bare  the 
system  of  robbery  practiced  alike  upon  the  public  and 
the  poor  women  it  was  supposed  to  support. 

"And  only  last  'month  you  gave  them  one  hundred 
dollars.  It  almost  makes  me  cry  when  I  think  of  the 
good  I  could  have  done  with  it — and  they  were  exposed 
in  all  the  papers  three  months  ago." 

"I  assure  you,  Miss  Holdon,  I  do  not  give  as  blindly 
as  that  as  a  rule."  The  visitor  had  assumed  a  fine  air  of 
superiority,  but  it  evaporated  suddenly  as  she  began : 

"I  believe  you  agreed  to  cut  out  all  unworthy  organ 
izations,  did  you  not?"  C.  Augustus  nodded  in  the  af 
firmative.  "Then  here  goes  the  pencil  through  this  one. 
'Blind  Man's  Protective  Union,'  "  she  slowly  read  from 
the  list,  and  asked  "what  do  you  know  about  this  one?" 
With  elbows  on  the  table  before  her,  and  a  sweet,  dimpled 
chin  supported  by  an  arch  formed  of  interlocked  hand, 
the  girl  sat  regarding  the  representative  of  organized 
charity. 


CHARLES   AUGUSTUS'    CHARITY    LIST  5! 

"Well,  yes,  I  can  tell  you  something  about  that  one. 
They're  a  jolly  nest  of  old  bats,  and " 

"Old  bats?"  the  inflection  was  strong. 

"Yes,  that's  what  they  call  each  other — sort  of  a  pet 
name — they're  all  right,  all  right." 

"What  does  this  union  do  for  them,  may  I  ask?" 

"Do  for  them?  Why,  it  furnishes  them  a  club  room 
with  pool  and  billiards — and,  and  lots  of  things,"  he 
insisted. 

"Pool  ?  So  the  old  bats  play  pool.  Now  Mr.  Weth- 
erby,  would  you  mind  telling  me  what,  kind  of  pool  those 
blind  men  play?" 

He  stared  at  her  for  a  moment,  then  the  answer  came, 
and  he  wondered  a  hundred  times  afterward  how  it  hap 
pened  to  slip  out. 

"Blind  pool  of  course." 

The  girl  shrugged  her  shoulders,  drew  the  pencil 
across  the  "Old  Bats'  Union,"  then  gave  her  attention 
to  the  next  on  the  list,  while  Mr.  Wetherby  wondered 
what  next,  and  thanked  his  lucky  stars  she  had  not 
pressed  the  Old  Bats  further. 

"The  Little  Ones'  Provident  Association,"  she  read 
from  the  list,  and  asked :  "What  do  you  know  about  it?" 

"Oh,  that's  one  I  got  interested  in  through  an  old 
hen — I  beg  your  pardon,  an  old  lady  who  brought  me  a 
prospectus  a  long  time  ago,  and  I've  kept  giving  when 
ever  they  sent  for  the  mazuma." 

Beatrice  got  up  from  the  table.  "Mr.  Wetherby,"  she 
said,  "I  must  insist  that  you  treat  me  differently — no,  not 
me,  but  the  thing  we  are  discussing.  Old  hen  and  ma 
zuma  may  sound  all  right  when  a  lot  of  thoughtless 
young  fellows  are  together;  but  here  with  me  it  isn't 
just  the  language  one  would " 

"I  implore  your  forgiveness,  Miss  Holdon.  Please 
believe  me,  I  meant  neither  disrespect  to  you,  to  char 
ity,  or  to  the  others — I  was  thoughtless."  .Beatrice  ac 
cepted  the  apology  as  sincere,  and  said  as  she  took  her 
seat: 

"I  may  have  been  rude — I  was,  but  I  am  so  in  earn 
est,  and  I  do  so  need  your  help,  and  you  seemed " 

"I  seemed  a  fool,"  he  broke  in,  "but  I  am  not;  and 
you  shall  have  my  help.  I  want  to  confess  that  I  don't 
know  a  thing  about  those  charities,"  pointing  to  the  list. 


52  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"What  money  I  have  given  to  charity  has  simply  been 
given — I  never  asked,  knew,  or  cared  where  it  went."  He 
drew  a  deep  breath  and  looked  at  her  squarely.  "There, 
it's  out  at  last,  but  if  you  had  pushed  on  down  that  list 
I'd  have  put  my  foot  into  it  deeper  and  deeper,  so  I 
thought  I  had  best  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  Will  you 
forgave  me?" 

Ignoring  his  offence  as  well  as  his  plea  for  forgive 
ness,  she  asked: 

"And  you  gave  all  your  money  to  organizations  you 
knew  nothing  about,  and  never  knew  whether  it  reached 
those  it  was  intended  for  or  not  ?" 

"That's  about  the  size  of  it,"  he  admitted,  and  lied 
like  a  gentleman,  for  he  had  never  g»iven  a  cent  to  charity 
in  his  life,  tho'  he  had  managed  to  gain  a  reputation  as 
a  charity  worker,  and  any  number  of  dollars  from  his 
father  whom  he  had  taught  to  believe  the  fiction. 

Beatrice  was  looking  beyond  him,  her  eyes  suffused 
with  unshed  tears,  as  she  said :  "I  wanted  to  ask  you 
some  questions  this  morning.  I  need  help  so  badly 
that •" 

"Tell  me  what  you  want.  I'll  do  all  you  ask — why, 
Miss  Holdon,  I'll  throw  that  infernal  list  in  the  fire — we 
won't  even  think  of  it  again."  She  heard  little,  or  at 
least  heeded  but  little,  that  he  was  saying,  and  startled 
him  with  her  next  question. 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  the  working  people? 
What  they  talk,  what  they  think?"  She  was  thinking  of 
her  last  visit  to  Bulman's. 

Wetherby  got  instantly  to  his  feet,  and  striking  the 
table  with  his  fist  exclaimed:  "Now  you  give  me  some 
thing  to  talk  upon.  Why,  Miss  Holdon,  I  know  the 
working  people  like  a  book.  They  talk  rot.  The  lazy 
beggars  would  be  paupers  if  they  were  not  driven  to 
work — why,  they're  so  ignorant  that  any  flannel-mouthed 
chump  can  organize  them  to  strike,  and  murder,  and 
chase  after  red  flags.  And  by  the  eternal,  their  brats  are 
as  impudent  today  as  their  fathers  were  ten  years  ago." 

"Do  you  believe  they  do  not  think — that  they  must 
be  driven  to  work?"  The  question  came  in  level  tones. 

"I  know  it.  Hasn't  the  old — I  beg  your  pardon — my 
father  had  all  kinds  of  trouble  in  his  refineries  for  ten 
years?  What  do  they  expect?  Automobiles  and  pianos 


CHARLES   AUGUSTUS'   CHARITY   LIST  53 

for  their  disgustingly  dirty  shacks?  Miss  Holdon,  such 
men  as  your  father  and  mine  stand  between  the  working- 
cattle  and  starvation,  yet  they  are  talking  today  of  taking 
our  property  away  from  us." 

"Still  you  contend  they  do  not  think?" 

"Why  as  for  that,  I  suppose  they  call  it  thinking,  but 
I  tell  you  it's  nothing  in  God's  world  but  anarchy.  What 
would  you  think  if  it  was  put  to  you  squarely  to  give 
them  all  your  wealth  and  let  them  divide  the  profits  of 
your  father's  business  amongst  them?"  Confident  of  the 
answer  he  waited. 

After  due  deliberation  she  replied:  "If  it  would  lift 
from  their  homes  the  blight  of  poverty  and  make  them 
and  their  children  happier  and  better,  I  would  say  amen." 

He  sat  down  suddenly  and  looked  at  her  with  a  grow 
ing  wonder  in  his  eyes. 

"I  fear  the  power  of  their  ignorance  over  my  life," 
she  repeated  aloud,  and  the  man  took  it  as  a  text. 

"That's  it,"  he  exclaimed,  "the  power  of  their  ignor 
ance  over  our  lives.  You  let  them  get  the  upper  hand. 
Let  those  ignorant  demagogues  rant  and  rave,  and  the 
ignorant  ones  will  be  the  first  to  follow.  As  soon  as  the 
noise  gets  high  enough  the  rest  will  fall  in  line,  and 
hell — I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  mean  it — hell  will  be  to 
pay.  I  tell  you  we  have  got  to  keep  the  laboring  people 
in  their  place.  If  the  laborer  wasn't  so  beastly  ignorant 
he  would  know  who  to  thank  for  his  bread  and  butter. 
You  never  said  truer  words  in  your  life — it's  the  thing 
we  rich  men  have  most  to  fear — the  power  of  their  ig 
norance  over  our  lives.  Just  look  at  the  trouble  we  are 
having  with  them  now,  and  more  coming." 

"But  it  was  a  laboring  man  who  said  that,  not  I,"  she 
interrupted.  "And  he  said  it  of  his  own  class,  meaning, 
that  the  rich  could  do  anything  they  wanted  to  with  the 
workers,  and  for  that  reason  he  feared  them." 

"Like  their  impudence,"  was  his  only  comment. 

They  sat  silent  for  a  time,  then  Beatrice  said :  "Mr. 
Wetherby,  I  want  to  know  which  is  right,  you  or  this 
workingman.  I  am  in  deadly  earnest.  It  seems  to  me 
you  are  too  partisan.  Yet,  when  I  think  of  it,  I  know  a 
Socialist  who  contends  that  your  attitude  toward  labor  is 
the  only  honest  one  an  employer  may  hold.  He  says  in 
so  many  words  that  the  logical  attitude  for  an  employ- 


54  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

ing  capitalist  is  to  buy  labor  in  the  cheapest  market  and 
sell  the  laborers'  product  in  the  highest — and  on  top  of 
that  asserts  his  faith  in  our  ultimate  overthrow.  The 
thing  I  want  to  get  at  is  the  cause  that  must  underlie 
such  extreme  opinions  as  Mr.  Bulman  and  you  hold.  I 
know  so  little,  and  hope  so  much — I  want  to  find  a  mid 
dle  ground  where  I  may  exist  and  be  comfortable.  I 
cannot  be  comfortable  with  all  the  vice,  and  crime,  and 
poverty,  and  strife  I  see  about  me.  I  hoped  so  much 
from  our  discussion  this  morning — and  you  are  even 
more  bitter  than  my  brother,  if  that  be  possible." 

While  the  girl  sat  silent,  thinking  how  deeply  she  had 
been  disappointed,  yet  how  fully  her  faith  in  her  own 
work  had  been  vindicated,  as  against  organized  charity, 
her  visitor  was  busy  rearranging  his  lines  of  battle. 

Woman  has  always  been  a  puzzle  to  man — and  worth 
a  life  of  labor,  even  though  death  come  before  the  solu 
tion.  Wetherby  felt  that  the  young  woman  across  the 
table  from  him  was  the  limit,  he  also  felt  that  he  would 
need  time  in  which  to  equip  himself  for  the  battle,  and 
was  greatly  relieved  when  she  said : 

"I  had  expected  to  have  you  escort  me  to  several 
places  I  must  visit  today,  but  your  limited  knowledge  of 
real  charity,  coupled  with  your  extreme  views  upon  the 
integrity  of  the  working  people,  makes  me  doubt  the — 
the — wisdom  of  expc.sing  you  to  a  nearer  view  of  their 
'disgustingly  dirty  shacks/ ''  There  was  a  wealth  of 
contempt  in  her  voice,  and  it  went  home. 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  offended ;  sorry  to  have  suffered 
in  your  good  opinion.  However,  you  misjudge  me.  I 
need  to  learn — may  I  come  again  when  I  have  had  time 
to  investigate  some  of  the  things  we  have  discussed?" 

He  left  with  a  reluctant  consent  to  his  plea. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WHO   IS   JOHN   BULMAN? 

"Who  is  John  Bulman?"  a  stranger  in  the  city  asked 
of  a  friend  who  was  quoting  Bulman,  and  urging  this 
stranger  to  hear  him. 

"Bulman  is  a  man,  besides  he  is  a  husband,  father, 
citizen,  mechanic  and  student;  yet,  withal,  those  who  sit 
in  judgment  upon  the  world  say  he  is  a  fool,  and  prove 
it  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  majority  of  those  who  care 
to  listen." 

"Why  is  this  man  a  fool?"  the  stranger  asked. 

"Because,"  the  other  answered,  "his  life  is  one  long- 
drawn-out  sacrifice  for  the  things  he  believes — because 
he  refuses  to  live  a  lie — refuses  to  eat  from  the  meat  pots 
of  his  time  more  than  enough  to  keep  soul  and  body  to 
gether." 

"That  is  heroic,  not  foolish !"  the  stranger  exclaimed. 

"Surely,"  the  friend  smiled,  "the  man  who  comes  up 
out  of  the  ruck  of  labor  and  brings  with  him  both  a  beau 
tiful  faith  and  a  fixed  purpose — a  purpose  that  even  the 
crying  needs  of  his  own  family  may  not  shake,  is  a  man 
well  worthy  the  respect  of  even  a  bitter  enemy." 

"Why  do  they  call  him  a  fool,  if  he  possesses  all 
these  fine  attributes?"  the  stranger  questioned. 

"Because  he  is  a  Socialist." 

"I  don't  blame  them.  This  Bulman  is  crazy,"  the 
stranger  replied  instantly. 

"Let  us  take  a  closer  look  at  this  man  before  we  de 
cide  so  weighty  a  question,"  the  friend  insisted,  smiling, 
and  straightway  they  discussed  not  Bulman,  but  his  phil 
osophy.  Let  me  touch  the  life  of  this  man  they  have 
forgotten,  then  pass  on. 

In  his  young  manhood,  this  "fool"  lived  up  to  his 
present  reputation,  but  talked  like  a  philosopher.  Born  a 
mechanic,  he  was  fortunate  above  the  majority  of  his 
fellows  in  that  when  the  fates  were  unkind  when  he 

55 


56  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

struggled  to  get  away  from  the  need  of  hard  labor  he 
could  always  go  back  to  his  tools.  And  he  had  often 
gone  back,  and  as  often  measured  his  talents  against  the 
cunning  of  other  men.  The  world  says  he  has  failed. 
When  yon  have  finished  this  story  you  will  ask  yourself 
the  same  old  question  regarding  this  man.  To-day  he  is 
one  of  the  three  most  pitiful  sights  this  world  holds — a 
jobless  father  with  mouths  to  feed — a  fallen  woman — a 
laboring  child. 

John  was  but  one  of  a  brood  of  children  and  fought 
his  way  to  a  fair  education.  Since  he  refused  to  be 
bound  by  the  religion  of  his  mother,  or  subscribe  to  the 
politics  of  his  father,  the  other  members  of  the  family 
who  love  the  savory  smell  of  the  flesh  pots  had  come  to 
accept  the  judgment  of  the  world  upon  their  brother. 

John  Bulman  has  been  out  of  work  for  just  a  month 
— we  m*y  understand  him  better  if  we  go  to  his  home 
to-night. 

A  brother  living  in  a  distant  city  had  been  called  to 
our  metropolis  on  business  and  had  sought  out  this 
"fool" — the  only  member  of  the  Bulman  family  who  is 
not  satisfied  to  be  saved  and  to  save  dollars. 

"Well,  John,  got  sickness  in  the  family?"  was  the 
first  utterance  of  the  prosperous  one  in  the  home  of  the 
"fool." 

"Yes,  wife  has  been  under  the  weather  for  a  while 
from  worrying  over  the  boy — you  see  Robert  met  with 
an  accident,  but  the  girls  are  well,  and  I  am  rugged." 
The  "fool"  stretched  himself  to  his  full  height  and  sur 
veyed  the  well  groomed  man  before  him. 

"Well,  it's  too  bad,  too  bad;  but  how's  your  work? 
You're  with  the  Nixon  Company,  are  you  not?" 

"I  was,"  John  answered,  "until  they  demanded  that  I 
surrender  my  political  convictions  as  the  price  of  my 
job." 

"Ah,  that's  it.  I  had  forgotten — but,  John,  you  don't 
mean  to  tell  me  you  couldn't  dodge  that  to  save  your 
job  when  your  wife  and  boy  are  ill.  Why,  you  are  in 
no  position  to  be  independent."  The  prosperous  member 
of  the  family  was  in  earnest. 

"Oh,  I  realize  that,"  John  replied,  "but  much  as  I 
love  my  family,  I  do  not  love  them  better  than  other 
thousands  of  men  have  loved.  They  dodged  the  issue; 


WHO  IS  JOHN  BULMAN  ?  57 

their  families  lived  for  a  time  on  the  price  of  their  sur 
render,  but  the  issue  they  dodged  still  lives,  while  other 
men's  wives  and  babies  are  starving  for  the  want  of  more 
than  food " 

"There  you  go  again,"  the  brother  interrupted,  tes 
tily.  "Socialism,  nothing  but  Socialism.  I  just  thought 
that  when  they  told  me  down  the  street  that  you  were 
not  working."  The  brother  put  a  hand  on  John's  shoul 
der  and  added:  "John,  you  don't  need  to  be  a  Socialist. 
You  have  some  talent,  and  can  make  your  way  in  the 
world.  You  don't  need  to  take  up  this  cry  of  the  rab 
ble." 

"I  don't  need  to  be  a  Socialist?" 

"No,  and  I  tell  you  frankly,  I  wouldn't  have  a  work 
er  in  my  shops  going  about  amongst  the  men  trying  to 
make  them  discontented."  The  prosperous  citizen  was 
brutally  frank.  This  fool  brother  should  get  no  encour 
agement  from  him. 

"But  I  do  even  worse  things  than  you  mention,"  John 
replied. 

"Worse  things!" 

"Yes,  I  go  out  on  street  corners,  in  halls,  any  place 
they  will  have  me,  and  urge  the  workers  to  organize  for 
the  overthrow  of  capitalism."  The  "fool's"  face  was 
aglow. 

"Do  you  wonder  that  you  were  discharged?  What 
could  you  expect?" 

"Brother,"  the  fool  replied,  "I  have  not  said  I  ex 
pected  anything  else — I  have  not  complained." 

"But,  man  alive,  think  of  your  family!  What  does 
the  Bible  say — the  man  who  will  not  provide  for  his 
family  is  worse  than  an  infidel — that's  it.  Worse  than 
an  infidel."  Two  well  saved  eyes  accuse,  but  the  "fool" 
does  not  blench. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  seem  to  remember,"  he  replied,  "and  I 
also  recall  some  other  passages  of  holy  writ:  'Ye  shall 
not  grind  the  faces  of  the  poor,'  and  this  one:  'Hypo 
crites,  how  shall  you  escape  damnation — you  are  as 
whited  sepulchers  filled  with  dead  men's  bones.'  Yes, 
the  Bible  offers  consolation  to  all  sorts  and  conditions  of 
men — while  as  many  commencing  the  other  way  around, 
find  in  it  condemnation  for  the  other  fellow.  But 
brother,"  he  added,  seriously,  "it  seems  to  me  we  are 


58  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

wasting  your  valuable  time.  I  have  no  present  hope  of 
bringing  you  to  see  the  world  as  I  see  it,  and  I  assure 
you,  you  cannot  take  me  back  to  your  religion  or  your 
politics — it's  useless ;  let  us  drop  it." 

"I  cannot.  I  dare  not.  It  seems  to  me  the  Lord 
must  have  sent  me  here  at  this  time,  as  he  sent  his 
apostles  of  old,"  the  brother  announced  with  unction. 
"John,  you  are  ruining  your  life ;  your  home ;  the  chances 
of  your  children." 

"He  who  would  save  his  life  shall  lose  it,"  John  said, 
and  for  the  first  time  a  note  of 'anger  showed  in  his 
brother's  voice  as  he  said: 

"I  despise  to  hear  people  who  have  refused  Christ 
and  His  salvation  eternally  quoting  the  Bible." 

John's  mellow  laugh  rang  out,  but  he  checked  him 
self.  "Brother,  I  beg  your  pardon — but  your  retort  was 
discourteous — suppose  we  Socialists  were  to  offer  that 
sort  of  argument  when  men  question  our  philosophy  ?" 

"That's  not  argument,  John,  not  argument.  The 
Bible  is  an  inspired  work,  while  the  trash  you  believe  is 
the  product  of  men  who  were  every  one  of  them  soured 
failures." 

"Brother,"  John  took  a  peep  into  Robert's  room, 
"don't  you  think  the  weather  a  safer  topic,  or  would  you 
like  to  take  a  look  at  the  boy?  He  has  been  cooped  up 
here  so  long  that  any  one  from  the  outside  is  a  great 
treat  to  him." 

"John's  weakening,"  the  good  brother  thought,  as 
they  went  into  the  boy's  room. 

"Why,  Miss  Holdon,  you  here?"  John  had  not  seen 
her  when  he  looked  into  the  room  a  moment  before,  and 
went  on:  "This  is  my  brother,  Miss  Holdon,  he  has 
just  been  reading  the  law  to  me.  He  says  I  don't  need 
to  be  a  Socialist,  and  all  that.  You  two  ought  to  be 
friends." 

There  was  a  deep  reproach  in  the  girl's  eyes  as  she 
looked  up  at  John,  but  it  was  a  smiling  face,  the  saved 
and  sane  brother  looked  into  as  he  took  her  hand. 

"Now,  you  two  can  say  things  about  me  to  your 
heart's  content,  but  I  ought  to  warn  you  that  if  you  go 
beyond  a  certain  limit  Robert  will  tell  me,  won't  you 
Bob?"  the  father  asked,  stroking  the  pale  boy's  dark 
hair.  As  he  turned  to  leave  the  room,  he  said  in  ex- 


WHO  IS  JOHN  BULMAN?  59 

planation  of  his  departure :  "I  promised  to  meet  a  man 
over  in  the  next  block  at  this  time,  and  as  there  is  hope 
of  getting  a  job  out  of  it  I  know  you  will  excuse  me." 

The  prosperous  brother  felt  ill  at  ease  when  left  with 
Miss  Holdon  and  the  boy.  Everything  about  her  told  of 
wealth  and  refinement,  and  the  only  connection  to  his 
mind  between  this  poor  cottage  housing  a  crippled  boy, 
a  sick  woman  and  a  man  out  of  work  spelled  charity. 
He  did  not  know  of  the  great  gulf  that  divides  poverty 
from  pauperism.  He  did  feel  that  his  dignity,  his  fam 
ily,  was  being  made  to  suffer  keenly,  and  he  credited 
himself  with  bearing  the  burden  for  the  entire  Bulman 
family  at  that  moment.  With  this  thought  uppermost, 
he  decided  that  he  would  not  try  to  shield  his  criminally 
foolish  brother.  He  would  give  the  young  woman  to 
understand  that  the  rest  of  the  Bulman  family  were 
made  of  better  stuff  than  that  developed  in  the  person  of 
the  "fool." 

"I  presume  you  are  engaged  in  charity  work,"  he 
began. 

Beatrice  answered  "Yes,"  and  fell  to  wondering  what 
sort  of  man  he  was.  He  carried  his  head  well,  looked 
clean,  but  seemed  to  be  laboring  under  some  embarrass 
ment. 

"I  am  very  glad  I  have  met  you  here,  for  I  want  you 
to  know  that  the  rest  of  the  Bulmans  are  not  like  John 
and "  a  long  pause. 

"Not  like  John?"  she  questioned,  seeing  he  was  at  a 
loss  for  words. 

"No,"  said  he,  "so  far  as  I  know  he  is  the  only  black 
sheep  in  the  family,  and  I  assure  you  we  feel  the  dis 
grace.  The  idea  of  a  man  of  his  ability  being  such  a 
fool.  Look  at  his  family.  His  home.  And  he  talking 
Socialism  and  allowing  you  to  feed  his  children.  It's 
disgraceful.  Absolutely  disgraceful."  He  strode  up  and 
down  the  narrow  confines  of  the  room.  "If  he  was  act 
ually  in  need,  on  account  of  some  misfortune — his  own 
family — I,  myself,  would  help  him." 

"But,  Mr.  Bulman,  you  don't  understand " 

"I  do  understand.    John  is  a  fool.    The  idea " 

"Hush,"  her  hand  lay  upon  the  outraged  citizen's 
arm,  "Robert  is  crying,  and — and — you  are  terribly  mis 
taken — your  brother  would  not  accept  a  penny  of  my 


60  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

money.  He  hates  what  the  world  calls  charity,  and  I 
believe,  has  a  much  better  reason  for  hating  it  than  you 
can  possibly  have." 

"Hates  charity,  Miss  Holdon,  and  yet  for  a  fool  no 
tion  brings  his  family  to  a  condition  where  they  may  be 
forced  to  accept  it  to-morrow?  Really,  I  can't  grasp  it 
I  can  conceive  how  you  may  be  interested  in  this  poor 
boy  and  John's  wife,  but  you  must  know  in  your  own 
heart  that  my  brother  is  throwing  himself  and  family 
into  the  gutter.  Why,  what  chance  can  these  children 
have  compared  to  the  advantages  I  can  give  mine? — 
and  John  was  my  superior  in  many  ways  when  we  were 
young  men." 

"You  do  your  brother  a  cruel  injustice,"  the  girl 
answered  quietly.  "He  is  the  grandest  man  I  know — he 
has  conquered  himself.  Won't  you  try  to  understand 
him,  Mr.  Bulman?  He  has  put  the  world  before  his 
own  family,  and  dollars  and  cents  mean  nothing  to  him 
beyond  the  satisfying  of  the  simple  wants  of  his  family. 
He  is  fighting  a  battle  for  other  men's  children — yes, 
and  fighting  for  men  who  are  too  weak,  too  ignorant,  too 
selfish,  to  think  beyond  to-day." 

"Are  you  a  Socialist?"  he  demanded. 

"No — I  am  more  than  half  a  coward,  the  rest  uncer 
tainty,"  she  replied. 

"I  don't  quite  catch  your  meaning,  Miss  Holdon,  but 
surely,  all  other  things  aside,  you  cannot  defend  John, 
or  justify  him  in  jeopardizing  his  family's  support  to 
the  extent  of  giving  up  his  work  because  they  couldn't 
stand  for  his — his — well,  let's  say  stirring  up  the  men?" 

For  a  moment  Beatrice  sat  silent,  her  eyes  upon  the 
face  of  John's  crippled  son,  then  she  looked  up  with  a 
smile. 

"Mr.  Bulman,  are  you  a  Christian?"  she  asked. 

"Land,  yes !  I've  been  an  active  worker  in  the 
church  for  years." 

"You  believe  in  religious  and  political  liberty,  do  you 
not?" 

"Certainly ;  the  two  are  practically  inseparable — but, 
may  I  ask  what  this  has  to  do  with  John's  case?  You 
know  I  am  not  on  trial,"  he  laughed. 

Beatrice's  face  was  seriousness  itself  as  she  answered, 
"We  are  all  on  trial." 


WHO  IS  JOHN  BULMAN?  6l 

"Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  that  is  true  to  a  certain  extent, 
Miss  Holdon,  but  when  a  man  has  made  his  peace  with 
God,  as  long  as  he  follows  in  the  strait  and  narrow  way, 
the  burden  is  light  and  the  way  plain." 

"But  suppose  you  went  down  to  the  shops  to  work 
some  morning  and  the  president  of  the  company  should 
send  for  you  to  go  to  the  office  and  should  tell  you  that 
a  gentleman  who  was  there  with  him,  had  informed  him 
that  you  were  a  Christian,  and  you  should  answer :  'Yes, 
I  am  a  Christian,  and  am  proud  of  it,'  and  he  should 
say,  'Well,  either  you  give  me  your  promise  this  morn 
ing  to  give  up  Christianity  or  you  must  quit  work/  what 
would  you  do?" 

"The  supposition  is  ridiculous — I  beg  your  pardon, 
but  it  is  ridiculous!"  he  declared  with  vehemence.  "In 
the  first  place  this  is  a  Christian  land;  in  the  second 
place  the  cases  are  not  parallel." 

"Yet  you  say  you  believe  in  political  liberty,  and  ad 
mit  that  religious  and  political  liberty  are  inseparable." 

"Surely,  you  don't  want  me  to  believe  you  dignify 
John's  dreams  by  calling  them  either  political  or  re 
ligious?"  he  insisted. 

"Mr.  Bulman,"  she  replied,  "your  brother  is  not  a 
dreamer.  All  the  evils  he  fights  are  realities,  and  he  be 
lieves  it  possible  to  destroy  them.  And  I  will. venture 
that  his  politics  is  dearer  to  him  and  has  cost  him  more 
of  sacrifice  than  my  religion  could  cost  me  in  a  thousand 
years.  When  Mr.  Nixon  demanded  that  he  either  give 
up  his  political  convictions  or  his  work,  he  asked  your 
brother  to  give  up  more  than  any  religion — he  demanded 
the  surrender  of  a  man — he  asked  that  another  mental 
slave  be  born  into  the  world,  and  God  knows  we  have  too 
many  of  them  already."  The  girl  arose,  and  bending 
over  the  boy,  said:  "Mr.  Bulman,  your  brother  is  of 
more  worth  to  the  world  than  any  thousand  men  who 
have  sold  their  convictions."  Kissing  the  boy,  whose 
bright  eyes  thanked  her  a  thousand  fold  for  her  defense 
of  his  father,  she  quitted  the  room. 

The  clock  ticks  off  the  passing  time  in  this  humble  cot 
tage,  but  it  does  not  toll  off  the  seconds  in  dollars  and 
cents,  dollars  and  cents,  dollars  and  cents.  Privation, 
privation,  privation,  are  the  words  that  come  from  its 
rusty  throat. 


62  -     MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

The  prosperous  man  sat  thinking  while  waiting  the 
return  of  his  brother.  So  this  was  the  daughter  of  a 
great  millionaire — and  she  championed  the  fool  of  the 
family.  She  said  she  was  not  a  Socialist — well,  probably 
this  charity  work  had  made  a  crank  of  her.  He  had 
often  heard  that  women,  and  even  men,  who  had  given, 
years  to  work  amongst  the  poor  got  into  a  way  of  being 
very  uncomfortable  themselves — and  made  others  almost 
as  nervous  as  well.  No  wonder  John  was  "set"  when 
he  had  such  encouragement.  That  was  all  bosh  about  re 
ligion — but  the  girl  would  make  a  good  lawyer.  He 
wished  John  would  hurry  home— on  second  thought,  he 
was  rather  glad  he  had  not  come — it  would  be  best  for 
him  to  go  to  a  hotel  for  the  night  anyway.  He  couldn't 
offer  John  money — even  a  loan  was  out  of  the  question 
just  then.  It  did  beat  the  dickens  where  money  went. 
If  John  did  get  in  the  ditch,  and  would  let  him  know,  he 
would  write  the  other  members  of  the  family  and  lay 
the  case  before  them.  But  that  girl — he  hadn't  expected 
to  hear  anything  like  that  from  her.  He  was  glad  John 
had  not  taken  any  of  her  money;  he  would  say  that 
much.  "Fm  mighty  glad  I  wouldn't  listen  to  him  when 
he  wanted  to  carry  me  away  with  him  on  his  chase 
after  rainbows  fifteen  years  ago,"  was  his  thought  as  he 
surveyed  the  poverty  of  the  room,  and  the  crippled  boy 
and  the  lean  bed.  The  four  other  rooms  he  had  seen 
came  up  before  his  mind's  eye — he  saw  his  brother 
walking  the  streets  looking  for  work ;  the  two  daughters, 
of  fourteen  and  sixteen,  working,  working,  working, 
day  after  day;  the  sick  wife,  worn  out  in  the  years  that 
of  right  should  be  ushering  her  into  the  mother's  earth 
ly  paradise — the  enjoyment  of  her  children — all  of  this 
he  saw — then  his  own  home  flashed  before  his  mental 
vision.  His  home  supported  at  a  cost  of  two  hundred 
dollars  a  month.  Still  they  were  not  satisfied  with  what 
he  could  give  them ;  his  income  often  falling  short  of 
meeting  the  demands  made  upon  it  by  his  wife  and  two 
children — yet,  if  the  deal  that  had  brought  him  to  the 
city  were  successful — and  it  promised  well — he  would 
double  his  income;  his  family  would  then  be  satisfied. 
Dreaming,  dreaming,  the  wise  man  in  the  home  of  a 
fool  hugged  himself  and  smiled. 

Of  course,  this  wretched  poverty  was  terrible,  but 


WHO   IS  JOHN   BULMAN?  63 

John  had  made  his  bed  and  must  lie  in  it.  Still,  the  wise 
man  felt  good — the  business  set  for  to-morrow  looked 
good.  He  reached  into  a  pocket  and  brought  forth  a 
gold  coin. 

"Here,  Robert,  is  a  little  present  from  your  uncle." 
He  tossed  the  coin  within  reach  of  the  boy's  well  hand. 

"Thanks,  uncle,"  Robert  answered,  tossing  it  back, 
"I  couldn't  take  it  after  what  you  said  about  my  father. 
Miss  Holdon  knows — he's  the  best  father  in  the  world. 
I  don't  need  anything  he  can't  get  for  me."  The  boy's 
eyes  were  bright  and  hard.  Here  was  another  social 
rebel  born  to  battle  for  the  right  to  a  full  and  free  man 
hood.  A  brave  spirit  doomed  to  imprisonment  in  a 
crippled  body  because  greed  had  ground  that  body  under 
its  iron  heel. 

"A  chip  off  the  old  block,"  the  prosperous  man  mut 
tered  as  he  stooped  to  pick  up  the  piece  of  gold.  He 
looked  sternly  at  the  boy  upon  the  lean  bed. 

"Robert,  you  may  have  as  little  understanding  of 
the  value  of  money  as  your  father,  but  I'll  warrant  that 
the  girls  and  your  mother  will  know  what  to  do  with  it," 
he  ventured,  as  he  laid  the  coin  on  the  rickety  little  table. 

"Don't  you  leave  it,"  Robert  panted,  lifting  himself 
until  the  pain  in  his  maimed  body  showed  through  every 
feature  on  his  thin  face — "don't  you  leave  it,  unless  you 
want  me  to  tell  them  all  the  mean  things  you  said  about 
my  father.  I  don't  want  to  tell  them,  but  if  you  leave 
that  money  I  will,  and  none  of  them  will  touch  it." 

As  he  sank  back  upon  his  pillow  the  prosperous  man 
took  up  his  gold  and  silently  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MARTHA   MOVES  TO  TOWN, 

Charles  Harris  is  neither  more  nor  less  worthy  of 
consideration  at  our  hands  than  are  the  millions  of  his 
fellow  toilers  who  plan,  build  and  man  our  mighty  en 
gines  of  industry.  Are  they  not  planning  for  the  greater 
machines  of  to-morrow?  And  will  they  not  be  asked  to 
give  life  and  limb  to  the  building,  together  with  a  life 
slavery  at  the  machine  when  it  is  finished?  If  happily 
their  children  escape  the  honor  of  being  tied  to  the  great 
crunching  jaws  of  these  man-built  engines  we  shall  have 
solved  a  mighty  problem,  and  their  labor  will  not  have 
been  in  vain. 

This  young  mechanic  of  ours  came  of  clean  stock, 
as  we  have  seen,  and  had  been  allowed  to  follow  his  bent 
for  mechanics  without  parental  interference,  his  parents 
being  too  poor  to  harbor  ambitions  for  him  above  the 
simple  life  of  a  clean  living  worker. 

Thus  we  find  the  youth  thinking  day  and  night  of  the 
flasks,  compounds,  'cams,  cogs,  pinions,  levers,  eccentrics, 
etc.,  etc.,  that  shall  constitute,  when  assembled,  a  mould 
ing  machine  in  which  a  perfect  casting  may  be  produced 
at  a  tithe  of  the  cost  of  hand  labor.  As  he  bends  to  his 
task  over  a  pile  of  moulder's  sand,  or  takes  his  turn  at 
the  ladle  in  Winslow's  foundry,  his  mind  is  also  bent — 
bent  to  the  task  he  has  determined  to  finish. 

In  the  residence  district  of  the  town  in  which  Charles 
Harris  found  employment  after  leaving  home,  is  the 
residence  of  "Jed"  and  Martha  Holcomb,  who  sold  the 
old  "Plummer  place"  and  rented  the  "home  farm"  in 
order  to  give  Mary  the  advantage  of  an  education  above 
that  obtained  by  the  daughters  of  the  average  farmer. 

Dr.  Norton's  wife  is  still  telling  the  story  of  Martha 
Holcomb's  arrival  in  the  city  as  a  fixture,  and  we  append 
it  here: 

Martha,  the  mother  of  Mary,  Moses  and  Peter,  had 
64 


'I  swan  ef  I  hain't  most  forgot  all  I  wanted  to  ask  you — a-seein'  that  pesky 
nig-g-er  a  diddlin'  an'  a  daddlin'  with  that  carpet." — Fagfe  65. 


MARTHA    MOVES  TO  TOWN  65 

not  yet  taken  the  last  feather  bed  from  the  line,  where  it 
had  been  hung,  together  with  its  fellows,  to  air  upon  its 
arrival  in  town  at  the  very  peak  of  a  hay  ladder  load  of 
her  household  goods,  before  she  was  somewhat  convers 
ant  with  the  neighborhood  into  which  she  was  being 
transplanted. 

"I  say,  there,"  she  called  to  the  doctor's  wife,  who 
stood  in  a  neighboring  yard  directing  the  operations  of  a 
colored  man  who  seemed  bent  upon  putting  in  the  re 
mainder  of  the  day  beating  at  a  single  rug,  while  a  dozen 
others  lay  ready  for  like  treatment.  The  doctor's  wife 
turned  from  the  negro  to  face  her  new  neighbor,  who 
had  advanced  to  the  low  partition  fence. 

"Be  you  a  Baptis'  ?" 

The  negro  paused,  his  arm  uplifted. 

"Why,  yes,"  the  doctor's  wife  answered  in  surprise; 
then  to  the  darkey  said:  "Toe,  if  you  don't  do  your 

work  better,  I'll  surely  have  to  get "     She  paused 

there  for  two  very  good  reasons.  The  negro  went  to 
work  as  though  his  life  depended  upon  it,  and  the  neigh 
bor  across  the  fence  was  talking. 

"Glad  to  hear  it,"  Martha  responded  /'but  I  swan  ef 
I  hain't  most  forgot  all  I  wanted  to  ask  you — a-seein' 
that  pesky  nigger  a  diddlin'  an'  a  daddlin'  with  that  car 
pet — why,  he's  bin  most  all  afternoon  a  spattin'  that  one 
piece.  How  much  d'you  hev  t'  pay  a  critter  like  that?  I 
wouldn't  give  'im  house  room.  I'd  a  heap  druther  hev 
one  of  them  Jew  peddlers  sleep  in  my  spare  bed  than  t' 
have  him  in  th'  barn — now,  who's  livin'  on  th'  other  side 
of  us? — an'  what  church  is  that  down  th'  street?  I  told 
Jed,  he's  my  husband,  an'  I  told  Mary,  that's  th'  slim- 
mist  one  of  th'  two  you  seen  in  th'  yard  whilst  you  peeked 

out  of  that  squatty  little     winder "  the  woman  on 

tfre  other  side  of  the  fence  blushed  and  started  to  stam 
mer  either  an  excuse  or  denial,  but  the  new  neighbor 
waved  speech  from  that  quarter  aside  and  proceeded: 
"Oh,  I  didn't  mind;  I  says  to  Mary  when  she  noticed 
you,  'I  reckon  that's  town  manners,'  I  says,  an'  anyway 
I'm  goin'  t'  be  neighbors — an'  which  church  did  you  say 
it  was?" 

"The  Universalist  church."  It  was  the  first  chance 
Mrs.  Norton  had  to  answer  a  question,  and  as  for  Joe, 
he  had  lost  all  interest  in  his  rugs. 


66  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"You  don't  say!  A  Universalite  church  right  in  our 
door  yard,  as  you  might  say.  That's  just  like  Jed  Hoi- 
comb;  I  told  him  t'  be  sure  an'  not  t'  git  into  no  disrep- 
table  neighborhood,  an'  here  he  goes  an'  sets  hisself  in  a 
stone's  throw  of  them  heathens — an'  you're  a  Baptis'? — 
an'  what  might  your  husband's  business  be?" 

"My  husband's  a  doctor — Joe  put  another  rug  on  the 
line,  that  one  will  have  to  do/' 

"So  he's  a  doctor — any  new  babies  hereabouts?" 
With  both  headshake  and  smile  the  wife  answered  in 
the  negative. 

"Could  you  say  who  them  people  is  that  went  out  in 
one  of  them  newfangled  contraptions  they  call  a  auto 
mobile,  jest  as  we  was  a-comin'  in  with  th'  last  load — 
them  as  lives  over  th'  way  in  that  house  with  all  of  them 
thingymediddles  on  th'  portico?'* 

"Oh,  that's  Mr.  Judson's  place ;  he's  a  board  of  trade 
man — Joe,  you  must  get  those  rugs  done." 

"Well,  I  declare !  A  board  of  trade  man,  an'  a  Uni 
versalite  church,  an'  all  in  th'  same  yard,  as  you  might 
say.  You  wait,  I  swan  if  Jed  don't  git  a  piece  of  my 
mind.  I  said  partickler,  when  him  an'  Mary  wanted  t' 
sell  th'  lower  farm  an'  move  t'  town,  'Jed  Holcomb,'  says 
I,  Tm  a  Baptis',  an'  I'm  not  a-goin'  t'  give  up  my  pure 
an'  undefiled  life  fer  neither  of  you,  nor  for  nobody.  If 
you  two's  set,'  I  says,  'on  a  movin'  t'  town  you  got  t' 
hunt  up  a  good  Christian  neighborhood  fer  me  t'  live  in' 
— you  jest  wait  till  I  git " 

"Mother,  come  here.  We  want  to  know  how  you 
want  these  curtains  put  up,"  a  girlish  voice  called  from 
the  Holcomb  back  door. 

"So  you're  a  Baptis' — well,  I'm  right  glad.  I've  got 
t'  go  now,  but  I'll  run.  right  over  th'  first  thing  in  th' 
morning'  an'  git  acquainted.  We'll  be  glad  t'  hev  some 
one  t'  go  t'  church  with  t'  sort  of  break  th'  ice  fer  us,  as 
you  might  say."  Martha  had  had  one  eye  on  Joe  while 
she  was  visitin'  with  her  neighbor,  and  as  she  turned  to 
go  to  the  house,  she  threw  this  at  him  over  her  shoulder : 
"I'd  like  t'  hev  th'  runnin'  of  you,  you  lazy,  good-fer- 
nothin',  I'd  soon  take  that  grin  out  of  you." 

The  doctor's  wife  was  still  looking  blankly  at  the 
door  behind  which  her  new  neighbor  had  disappeared 
but  the  moment  before,  when  she  was  recalled  to  the 


MARTHA   MOVES  TO  TOWN  6? 

present  by  the  sound  of  a  well-grown  chuckle  behind 
her.  As  she  turned  to  look  at  Joe,  he  touched  his  cap 
and  said:  "She's  a-comin'  back  in  the  mornin',"  then 
gave  way  to  another  burst  of  mirth. 

"You  hardly  expect  me  to  laugh  with  you,  do  you 
Joe?"  the  doctor's  wife  asked,  grimly,  as  she  turned  to 
the  house. 

Joe  scratched  his  head,  took  a  leisurely  survey  of  the 
neighborhood,  then  fell  upon  the  rug  and  beat  it  with  a 
will.  "Ise  mighty  glad  my  ole  'oman's  a  Meffodes — an' 
I  reckon  Misses  Norton  am  right — she  hain't  no  laugh 
a-comin'  long  as  dis  new  one  am  a  Baptis'  like  herself." 


;  I  AFTER  IX. 

A    WCSHIPER    AND    A    REBEL. 

Six  children  wor  born  to  Jed  and  Martha  Holcomb; 
three  died  in  infacy  and  for  each  visit  of  the  grim 
reaper  to  her  horn  Martha  charged  herself  with  some 
great  and  grievou-.  .11  against  the  inflexible  laws  of  her 
God.  After  acceptig  her  losses  as  direct  manifestation 
of  the  displeasure  c  Deity,  there  remained  but  one  thing 
to  do,  and  she  di 

Her  hand  was  :  iron  and  found  occupation  almost 
daily  in  administer!^  punishment  upon  the  children  left 
to  her  care.  Her  :ngue  was  vitriol,  and  its  harsh  out 
pourings,  its  viciou  threats  even  against  the  lives  of  her 
little  ones,  drove  oe  to  rebellion  against  both  her  re 
ligion  and  her  la\v.  while  a  second  defended  himself  by 
practicing  dissimuition. 

Moses,  the  oldst  son  left  to  them,  resented  the  whip 
pings  and  harsh  cnimands  of  his  mother,  while  secretly 
pitying  his  father  *ho  suffered  the  rasping  peevishness 
of  his  mentally  unalanced  wife  in  silence. 

One  Sunday  mrning,  for  some  trivial  mischief  com 
mitted  by  Peter  an  Mary,  Moses  was  soundly  whipped, 
then  ordered  into  le  straight-laced  uniform  assigned  to 
the  Christian's  Sabath,  and  with  the  rest  of  the  family 
hauled  to  church  in  the  way  he  leaned  over  and  shak 
ing  his  clinched  st  in  his  brother's  face,  whispered: 
"If  I  git  home  aK*  I'm  going  to  half  kill  you  for  lying 
on  me  this  mornm." 

"Half  kill  yoi  and  "beat  your  brains  out,"  together 
with  "skin  you  ave"  were  favorite  expressions  with 
the  Christian  moter  of  Moses,  aged  ten,  and  Peter,  aged 
eight.  By  these  eciearments  she  sought  to  convey  love's 
message  to  her  ciidren. 

Moses  knew  te  lesson  for  that  particular  Sabbath 
dealt  with  the  heious  sin  of  blasphemy,  and  one  of  the 
lesson  helps  he  hd  studied  with  the  rest  dealt  with  the 

68 


A    WORSHIPER   AND   A    REBEL  69 

fool  who  had  said  in  his  heart  there  is  no  God.  The  text 
was  illuminated  by  incidents  quoted  from  the  lives  of 
ancient  peoples,  wherein  those  who  had  been  foolish 
enough  to  curse  God  had  straightway  been  executed.  As 
a  further  support  to  the  text,  incidents  said  to  belong  to 
present  day  happenings  were  brought  forward  to  prove 
that  the  Lord  still  dealt  out  swift  justice  against  all  who 
would  dare  doubt  his  existence. 

Moses,  smarting  under  the  stripes  of  the  lash,  and 
suffering  in  his  proud  young  soul  all  the  tortures  of  the 
damned,  had  decided  to  end  it  all  as  soon  as  he  got  to  the 
church.  He  would  have  cursed  God  out  in  the  barn 
where  he  went  to  salve  his  bruise-  with  tears  he  dare 
not  shed  under  the  eyes  of  the  family  if  he  had  not 
wanted  to  make  sure  of  finishing  the  thing,  and  he  right 
ly  judged  that  God,  if  he  struck  at  all.  would  strike 
harder  if  he  were  cursed  in  his  own  house  than  if  the 
awful  sin  were  committed  in  a  barn. 

The  rebel  was  ready  for  death.  Life  to  him  was  but 
a  rag:  all  of  the  big  world's  beauties  were  hidden  from 
him :  chattel  slavery,  made  more  hateful  to  him  by  con 
stant  reminders  that  he  was  not  worth  his  salt,  that  he 
never  stopped  to  think  how  much  he  owed  his  parents, 
added  to  the  weight  of  a  cruel  mother's  hand  wielding 
a  slave  driver's  right  to  beat  the  body  of  the  slave  with 
thongs  of  leather,  and  stinging  serpents  of  hickory,  had 
finished  their  work  on  this  one  boy. 

The  son  of  a  sanctified  mother  was  ready  to  deny 
God  and  die.  Strange?  Xo.  there  was  nothing  strange 
about  the  case.  Moses  Holcomb  was  a  bound  slave  to 
his  mother's  one  hundred  religious  don'ts — do  you  won 
der  that  he  looked  upon  both  mother  and  God  from  a 
single  viewpoint? 

Arrived  at  church  he  sat  stony-eyed  while  the  min 
ister  and  congregation  read  the  lesson,  then,  when  the 
bustle  of  arranging  classes  had  subsided,  he  set  himself 
to  the  task  of  defying  God — the  God  in  whom  all  the 
people  he  saw  professed  to  believe  with  one  mind  and 
one  heart. 

"There  is  no  God.  There  is  no  God.  I  want  to  die. 
I  want  to  die.  It's  a  He,  I  want  to  die/'  he  repeated 
over  and  over.  Then  waited  for  the  bolt  to  fall,  and 
was  surprised  as  the  old  clock  ticked  off  the  seconds  and 


7O  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

he  still  breathed.  A  weird  thought  came  to  him:  God 
might  be  too  busy  listening  to  Deacon  Jeffries  to  hear 
just  a  boy  cursing  him.  He  would  try  again.  This  time 
the  little  rebel  was  so  in  earnest  in  his  appeal  for  re 
lease  from  the  burden  of  life  that  his  voice  rang  out  true 
and  clear,  filling  the  church  with  its  challenge  to  the 
Creator : 

"It's  a  lie,  there  is  no  God !    I  want  to  die !" 

The  low  hum  of  voices  in  discussion  of  the  lesson 
was  hushed,  and  on  the  silence  there  fell  the  heart-pierc 
ing  sobs  of  a  child,  huddled  in  the  end  of  a  pew  while 
his  teacher  bent  over  him  with  loving  words  and  ca 
resses.  There  can  be  but  little  comfort  gotten  from  an 
alien  hand  for  a  soul  so  sore  for  love,  so  torn  with  doubts, 
so  far  adrift  that  it  poured  out  its  tide  of  woe  and  chal 
lenged  God  within  the  house  of  prayer  to  end  it  all. 

Heads  turned  this  way  and  that;  some  whispered, 
"Who  is  it?"  others  answered,  "Sister  Holcomb's  Mose," 
until  the  desired  information  was  well  spread  amongst 
the  worshipers. 

Martha  left  her  place  in  the  Bible  class  when  a  neigh 
bor  reaching  over  the  back  of  a  pew  had  first  pinched 
her,  then  whispered,  "Sister  Holcomb,  your  Mose  is  a 
blasphemin'  an'  fightin'  his  teacher."  Dropping  her 
Bible  she  hurried  back  to  where  he  crouched  in  the  pew. 
"Here  you,"  she  began,  making  a  dive  for  his  coat  col- 
lar,  "what  th'  old  scratch's  th'  matter  with  you?  You 
.sick?" 

His  mother's  hands  upon  him  acted  as  a  tonic.  His 
sobs  were  stilled.  All  the  combativeness  of  the  animal 
in  a  corner,  bated  beyond  endurance,  flashed  up;  his 
face  grew  rigid;  his  tear-dimmed  eyes  glinted.  "You 
let  loose  of  me,"  he  shouted,  and  as  Martha  in  sheer 
surprise  relaxed  her  hold  he  slipped  out  into  the  aisle 
and  ran  from  the  church. 

Out  in  the  great  cathedral  he  halted,  but  not  until  he 
had  reached  the  cross  roads,  where  he  felt  safe  from 
immediate  pursuit.  Here  he  gave  himself  to  the  thou 
sand  doubts  and  uncertainties  that  surrounded  him  to 
mock  his  struggle  for  liberty,  to  be  true  to  himself.  For 
an  hour  he  sat  in  a  thicket  of  wild  plum  bushes  and 
planned  to  leave  his  prison,  and  seek  succor  of  the  great 
world  beyond  the  ridge  of  hills  stretching  away  into  eter- 


A   WORSHIPER  AND   A   REBEL  7 1 

nity  along  the  western  horizon.  Then  thinking  of  God's 
weakness  as  demonstrated  when  he  had  failed  to  make 
good  his  threat  to  kill,  the  boy  came  to  think  it  just  pos 
sible  his  mother,  too,  might  be  less  sure  of  herself  when 
she  faced  this  challenge  to  her  faith,  and  turned  resolute 
ly  toward  home,  determined  to  fight  it  out  with  the  wom 
an — his  mother. 

The  Sunday  dinner,  served  at  two  o'clock,  had  long 
been  cleared  away,  when  Mary  ran  into  the  sitting  room 
to  announce :  "He's  come,  mother.  He's  come.  I  seen 
him  sneak  into  the  barn,"  and  out  she  danced  to  find 
Peter  and  impart  the  news. 

"Jed,  you  go  out  to  th'  barn  an'  bring  that  young 
scamp  in  here " 

"Mother,  I  wouldn't  whip  th'  boy — he  hain't  seemed 
like  hisself  th'  last  few  days " 

"Jed  Holcomb,  I'm  th'  jedge  of  how  I'm  to  bring  up 
my  children,  an'  I'm  not  a-goin'  t'  have  you  a  interferin' 
either." 

"But,  mother,  you  hain't  goin'  t'  whip  him  again  to 
day,  be  you?  I  tell  you  Mose  hain't  well.  An'  besides, 
he  hain't  had  a  bite  of  victuals  to-day." 

"Jed  Holcomb,  you  don't  know  that  boy.  I  tell  you 
his  spirit  has  got  t'  be  broke.  An'  I'll  do  it  if  I  have  t' 
break  every  bone  in  his  body." 

"Mose  hain't  a  bad  boy,  mother,"  the  father  pleaded ; 
"he'll  do  anything  fer  me — why,  he  hain't  never  dis 
obeyed  me — an'  I  hain't  never  licked  him,  'less  it  was 
'cause  you  made  me." 

"That's  right,"  the  hysterical  priestess  of  divine 
mercy  shrieked,  "that's  right.  Take  his  part  against  his 
own  mother.  Keep  on  an'  see  where  he'll  land.  I  said 
I'd  punish  him  within  an  inch  of  his  life  fer  a  disgracin' 
me  in  church,  an*  I'm  a-goin'  to.  You  old  softhead,  if 
you  hain't  got  gumption  enough  t'  bring  up  children 
what  d'  git  them  fer?" 

With  this  parting  shot  ringing  in  his  ears  Jed  left  the 
house  hurriedly  and  started  for  the  feed  lot,  while  the 
mother,  followed  by  both  Peter  and  Mary,  went  to  the 
barn. 

When  the  voice  of  his  mother  reached  him,  fear  of 
physical  tortures  was  eating  into  the  heart  of  the  boy 
who  had  buried  his  hot,  tear-stained  face  in  the  sweet- 


72  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

scented  clover  in  a  far  corner  of  the  mow  but  a  few 
short  minutes  before. 

"Come  out  of  there,  you  little  devil";  a  pause;  "I 
kin  see  you.  Come  down  here  I  tell  you."  Contempt 
curled  the  boy's  lips  as  he  lifted  his  head  from  its  pillow 
of  clover.  He  knew  she  lied.  No  human  eye  could  see 
him  in  that  hiding  place. 

"You'd  better  come  out  of  there.  If  I  have  t'  come 
an'  git  you  it'll  be  th'  worse  fer  you." 

Slowly  this  small,  ten-year-old  boy,  whom  the  boys 
of  the  neighborhood  called  "Skinny,"  because  of  his  thin 
legs  and  slender  body,  lifted  himself  from  the  hay.  He 
had  returned  home  to  fight  it  out  with  his  mother,  and 
the  call  had  come.  If  he  was  to  save  the  proud  spirit 
that  disdained  a  lie,  and  refused  to  yield  its  rights,  he 
must  answer  the  challenge.  The  time  had  come  to  make 
a  last  stand.  If  he  whined  and  begged  forgiveness  here, 
in  the  future  there  would  be  multiplied  demands  made 
upon  him  to  yield  still  more,  as  his  brother  Peter  had 
yielded  until  he  had  corne  to  prefer  a  lie  to  the  truth. 
Once  more  the  angry  voice  came  up  to  him,  and  this 
time  it  was  supplemented  by  the  wicked  snap  of  the  whip 
lash,  hungry  for  a  taste  of  the  child's  blood.  There  was 
no  escape.  As  he  realized  the  import  of  the  challenge 
the  blood  ran  as  liquid  fire  through  his  little  body.  She 
should  not  strike  him  with  that  whip.  She  should  not! 
She  should  not !  Flushed  and  panting,  yet  unafraid,  he 
clambered  over  the  billowy  hay  to  the  ladder  leading 
down  to — Hell. 

When  his  feet  touched  the  floor  of  the  driveway  he 
turned  defiantly  to  face  his  mother.  The  mother  had 
worked  herself  into  a  paroxysm  of  rage  and  stood  bit 
ing  her  lips  and  switching  a  post  with  the  rawhide  buggy 
whip. 

"Hain't  you  ashamed  of  yourself,  you  young  scape 
grace?  A  hollerin'  out  in  Sunday  school  thet  you  want 
ed  t'  die."  Moses  dodged  a  vicious  cut  with  the  whip. 
"You  don't  need  t'  dodge,  you  little  devil.  I'm  goin'  t' 
half  kill  you.  I'll  learn  you  t'  disgrace  me  in  my  own 
church.  I'll  break  that  spirit  of  yours  if  I  kill  you  fer 
it" 

"Why  don't  you  kill  me?  I'd  rather  be  dead  than 
"  what  more  he  would  have  said  was  lost  in  the  hiss 


A   WORSHIPER   AND   A   REBEL  73 

of  the  rawhide  as  it  wrapped  its  coils  about  him.  Again 
the  lash  fell,  the  boy's  right  wrist  showing  a  great  red 
welt  where  the  angry  thing  had  bruised  him.  It  had  bit 
ten  another  place,  a  rivulet  of  blood  streamed  down  over 
his  cheek  from  a  bite  of  the  lash's  end  in  his  tender 
flesh.  With  the  quickness  of  a  cat  he  jumped  aside  as 
the  lash  fell  seeking  a  third  taste  of  a  child's  soul.  Pick 
ing  up  a  hammer  that  lay  upon  an  unopened  barrel  of 
salt,  he  stepped  back  just  out  of  reach  of  the  whip,  and 
cried  out: 

"If  you  touch  me  with  that  whip  again  I'll  kill 
you." 

Martha,  blinded  by  rage  at  this  open  rebellion,  start 
ed  forward ;  the  whip  descended — the  hammer  sped  true 
to  its  mark. 

Peter  and  Mary  ran  screaming  from  the  barn  as  the 
mother  fell.  "He's  killed  mother.  He's  killed  mother," 
was  the  cry  that  reached  Jed  and  the  hired  man  in  the 
feed  lot. 


CHAPTER  X. 

MOSES    FINDS   A   MOTHER. 

Moses  Holcomb  looked  down  at  his  mother  without  a 
tremor  as  she  sank  to  the  floor,  then  raced  from  the  barn 
at  the  heels  of  the  other  children  and,  dodging  behind 
cribs  and  stacks  of  grain,  made  his  way  to  a  field  of 
growing  corn  and  ran  through  it  until  he  was  hidden  in 
a  like  field  on  a  neighboring  farm. 

Late  that  night  as  Tom  Webster  was  preparing  to 
close  the  house  for  the  night  he  happened  to  look  out 
toward  the  Millville  road.  "Land  sakes,  Cora,"  he  called 
to  his  wife,  "I  believe  some  of  the  neighbors  is  sick; 
they's  a  boy  comin'  in  at  the  front  gate." 

Mrs.  Webster  hurried  to  the  front  door  and  stood 
waiting.  The  boy  saw  her  and  hesitated  a  moment,  then 
advanced  slowly  until  he  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  steps. 

"Could  you— could  you  give  me  just  a  little  piece  of 
bread?  I  haven't  had  anything  to  eat  to-day,  an'  I'd 
like  to  sleep  in  your  barn."  Cora  Webster  had  fed 
tramps  before,  though  there  were  but  few  in  the  coun 
try  then,  but  this  appeal  from  a  mere  baby  so  dumfound- 
ed  her  that  she  could  not  utter  a  word,  and  the  boy 
went  on : 

"I  am  tired,  lady,  and  I  don't  feel  like  I  could  go 
much  farther" — his  voice,  his  drooping  little  figure  were 
eloquent  witnesses  to  the  bitter  struggle  he  had  endured 
on  the  road  he  had  traveled  that  day.  Standing  there  in 
the  moonlight,  a  wanderer  while  yet  a  babe,  more  in  need 
of  a  loving  mother's  care  than  ever  before,  he  touched 
the  great  heart  of  a  childless  mother. 

"Sleep  in  our  barn,  child?"  she  questioned,  her  eyes 
brimming  with  tears,  "why,  what  call  have  you  to  sleep 
in  a  barn  when  there  are  beds  in  plenty?" 

"I — I  thought  you  wouldn't  want  me  in  your  house," 
he  answered,  brokenly,  "I  wasn't  going  to  tell  you  any- 

74 


MOSES  FINDS  A  MOTHER  75 

thing  about  what  T  had  done — but  I  thought  I  might 
sleep  in  the  barn " 

"Child,  child,"  she  cried,  with  outstretched  hands,  "a 
boy  like  you  can't  have  done  anything  very  wrong — 
come  in  and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"No,  I  can't  come  in — you  don't  know — I  don't  be 
lieve  there  is  any  God.  I  asked  him  to  kill  me  an'  he 
didn't,  because  there  ain't  none — and — and  I  killed  my 
mother,  but '*' 

Cora  Webster  was  down  the  steps  and  on  her  knees 
with  her  arms  around  him  before  he  had  finished  his  con 
fession. 

"Oh,  my  boy,  my  boy,  don't  talk  like  that.  What,  oh, 
what  have  they  done  to  you?  What  have  they  done  to 
you  ?"  With  her  arms  about  him  she  picked  him  up  and 
carried  him  into  the  great  kitchen,  and  called  her  hus 
band  in  such  peremptory  tones  that  he  came  on  a  run. 

"What  in  the  world  Cora "  he  began  as  he  came 

bounding  in,  then  pausing  at  the  sight  of  the  boy — 
clothes  torn  in  his  wild  flight,  face  bloody  and  stained 
with  tears  and  the  dust  of  travel,  hair  disheveled,  wild- 
eyed. 

"Tom,  he's  got  a  fever  and  is  clear  out  of  his  head, 
and " 

"No,  I  ain't  got  no  fever,"  the  boy  interrupted,  "and 
I  won't  be  taken  back  there ;  I'll  die  first.  What  I  said 
was  true."  He  looked  at  the  great  red  welt  across  his 
wrist,  the  hot  blood  surging  to  his  face.  He  could  feel 
shame  for  his  mother,  even  in  the  face  of  the  crime  he 
believed  himself  guilty  of. 

"Tom,  he  says  he  killed  his  mother,"  Cora  whispered 
the  awful  words. 

"My  God,  Cora,  you  must  have  dreamed  it."  Turning 
to  the  boy  again  he  asked  where  he  lived,  the  name  of 
his  folks,  when  he  left  home  and  finally,  satisfied  that 
Moses'  story  was  at  least  in  part  true,  he  said  to  his  wife : 
"I  guess  I  had  better  take  Mollie  and  ride  over  to  the 
Holcomb  neighborhood;  it's  only  twelve  miles,  and  you 
make  the  little  chap  comfortable.  I  reckon  he's  atynit 
starved,  as  well  as  tuckered  out." 

When  her  husband  had  gone,  Mrs.  Webster  asked 
Moses,  who  stood  looking  out  into  the  night  as  though 
he  contemplated  flight,  yet  could  not  bring  himself  to 


76  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

leave  until  imminent  danger  threatened,  if  he  didn't  want 
to  wash  before  he  had  lunch.  While  he  removed  the 
grime  and  dried  blood  from  face  and  hands,  she  set 
out  a  lunch  on  the  kitchen  table  and  hovered  over  while 
he  ate. 

When  he  had  finished  she  was  seated  in  a  big  rocker 
by  a  window  from  which  a  view  of  the  Millville  road 
could  be  had.  "Come  over  here  and  tell  me  about  your 
trouble,"  she  pleaded,  as  the  boy  shrank  into  a  far  cor 
ner  of  the  room,  sobbing  out  his  thanks  for  her  kind 
ness.  Finally  she  prevailed  upon  him  to  go  to  her.  As 
he  came  to  her  side  she  put  her  arm  about  him  and 
would  have  drawn  him  to  her  lap,  but  he  hung  back.  To 
induce  him  to  yield  she  told  him  of  her  one  baby,  who 
had  he  lived,  would  have  been  about  the  same  age,  and 
asked  if  he  didn't  think  she  would  have  found  her  boy 
ready  to  bring  all  his  troubles  to  his  mother's  arms,  even 
after  he  had  grown  to  be  a  bigger  boy  than  the  little 
wanderer  whose  confidence  she  sought. 

Tom  Webster,  returning  home  after  midnight,  found 
his  wife  sitting  in  the  big  rocker  with  the  little  wanderer 
clasped  to  her  bosom,  and  he  fast  locked  in  sleep. 

"She  isn't  dead,"  he  whispered,  as  Cora  held  up  a 
warning  finger,  "but  from  what  I  gather,  I  don't  think  I 
would  cry  if  she  was."  Having  deposited  a  bundle  on 
the  table  he  took  a  chair  and  sat  by  the  big  rocker.  The 
moment  he  had  entered  the  room  and  his  wife  caught 
•sight  of  the  bundle  she  smiled — she  was  to  keep  the  little 
fellow  who  had  won  her  heart  by  his  sturdy  defense  of 
truth,  even  at  a  greater  cost  than  most  grown-ups  are 
willing  to  pay. 

But  a  wife  would  be  somewhat  remiss  in  her  wifely 
duty  did  she  not  reprove  her  husband  for  his  radical 
expressions,  so  Tom,  big,  whole-souled  Tom,  had  hardly 
felt  the  chair  under  him  before  his  wife  said:  "You 
mustn't  say  such  wicked  things,  Tom;  not  even  about 
his  mother.  And  if  he  is  to  stay  with  us  you  must  quit 
saying  darn  and  words  like  that,"  at  all  of  which  the 
big  man  laughed  softly,  and  kissed  the  protestant. 

"Holcomb  told  me  Moses  was  one  of  the  best  boys 
alive,  though  he  never  could  get  along  with  his  mother 
somehow." 


MOSES  FINDS  A  MOTHER  77 

"I  don't  wonder,  from  what  he  told  me,"  she  hastily 
added,  "but  he  didn't  say  a  word  against  his  mother,  only 
that  he  was  not  sorry  he  had  killed  her.  Think  of  that, 
Tom.  He  must  have  suffered  dreadfully." 

"Yes,"  Tom  answered.  "I  guess  the  little  chap  had 
a  rather  tough  time  of  it,  and  Holcomb  allowed  if  we'd 
just  as  soon  keep  him  for  a  while  he'd  pay  his  keep.  I 
told  him  we  had  no  children  and  would  be  glad  to  have 
the  boy,  and  pay  him  something  besides." 

Cora  nodded  her  appreciation,  and  asked :  "Did  you 
see  that  woman?"  then  bent  to  kiss  the  scar  left  by  the 
lash  on  the  boy's  cheek. 

"No,  I  didn't ;  she's  some  knocked  out,  I  guess.  The 
hammer  hit  her  on  the  forehead,  Holcomb  says,  and 
from  what  others  told  me  I  judge  the  handle  seemed  to 
think  the  hammer  hadn't  done  enough,  so  it  up  and  swat 
ted  her  one  in  the  mouth,  loosened  a  few  teeth  and  cut 
her  lips  a  bit." 

"Don't,  Tom  dear,"  the  wife  protested,  and  added, 
"I'm  so  glad  she  isn't  badly  hurt,  and  that  this  poor  lit 
tle  soul  found  his  way  to  us." 

"Here,  too,  little  woman.  I  make  no  doubt  but  that 
the  boy  has  good  stuff  in  him,  and  if  he  has,"  the  loyal 
husband  declared,  "he  gets  his  chance  if  he  stays  with 
you." 

"And  about  church,  Tom?"  She  looked  up,  a  frown 
of  perplexity  on  her  face.  "He  declares  there  is  no  God. 
What  are  we  going  to  do  with  him  if  he  don't  want  to 
go  to  church??" 

"Do  with  him,  girl  ?"  Tom  laughed  softly.  "Do  with 
him?  Why  we'll  just  turn  him  out  with  the  colts  on  Sun 
day — poor  little  devil,  he's  had  enough  religion  ham 
mered  into  him  to  make  a  man,  a  full-grown  man,  want 
to  go  to  hell  rather  than  meet  the  people  who  have  re 
ligion  in  heaven." 

"That's  awful,  Tom,  simply  awful,  and  you  must  not 
talk  that  way  before  him.  He's  going  to  look  up  to  you, 
and  admire  you,  and  see  things  as  you  see  them,  and  I 
want  you  to  be  careful." 

"Of  course  I'll  be  careful,  you  goose.  But  I  can  say 
things  when  he's  sound  asleep,  can't  I  ?"  The  wife  smiled 
at  his  banter,  and  he  went  on:  "Seriously,  wife,  the  boy 
is  more  nearly  religious  than  some  of  the  folks  I  met 


78  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

over  in  the  Holcomb  neighborhood.  They  all  said  he 
cursed  God  and  asked  for  him  to  strike.  And  them  neigh 
bors  think  the  boy  is  an  awful  sinner.  Now,  I  don't 
know  how  you  look  at  it,  but  it  seems  to  me  if  God  is 
doing  business  in  heaven  he  took  a  darned  sight  more 
stock  in  the  boy's  blasphemy,  his  calling  out  to  be  killed, 
his  heart  busting  with  agony,  than  he  did  in  a  lot  of 
ready-made  prayers  that  went  up  to  him  yesterday.  Yes 
siree,  that  boy's  defiance,  was  the  grandest  prayer  that 
reached  the  throne  of  grace  yesterday,  unless,"  he  quick 
ly  added,  "some  other  poor  souls  were  in  as  tight  a  place, 
and,  knowing  as  little,  were  firing  their  curses  at  the  God 
they  had  been  taught  to  believe  in." 

"Tom,  it's  positively  scandalous  for  you  to  talk  that 
way,  when  you  know  you  are  as  good  a  Christian  as 
lives,"  the  wife  protested,  and  Tom  chuckled  as  he 
stooped  to  kiss  her,  and  observed: 

"  'Bout  time  to  put  the  youngster  to  bed,  and  crawl  in 
ourselves,  if  we  expect  to  git  up  in  time  to  milk  Boss  be 
fore  she  bellers  her  head  off.  Give  me  the  boy,  and  you 
run  along  and  open  up  the  bed." 


CHAPTER    XL 

THE  INVESTIGATION  OF  THOMPSON. 

Charles  Harris  had  not  been  a  resident  of  the  town 
very  long  when  his  room-mate,  Robert  Thompson,  in 
sisted  that  he  go  to  the  First  Baptist  Church  with  him, 
just  once  anyway,  and  see  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  town. 
As  Charles  objected  on  the  score  that  he  found  better 
employment  for  his  spare  time  working  on  plans  for  his 
great  machine,  Bob  insisted  the  stronger,  and  informed 
his  auditor  that  he  (Bob)  had  a  great  mind  to  try  his 
luck  at  capturing  the  alluring  maiden.  Finally  Charles 
consented  to  go  "just  once/'  The  result  was  that  both 
young  men  attended  services  at  the  First  Baptist  Church 
until  Bob  captured  the  coveted  prize.  The  most  remark 
able  feature  in  the  transaction  was  the  sudden  cooling  of 
Charley's  religious  ardor  and  his  close  application  to 
work. 

"Bob"  Thompson  had  been  basking  in  the  smiles  of 
Mary  Holcomb  for  at  least  two  months,  while  his  room 
mate  gave  his  time  to  labor,  when  he  came  in  one  Sunday 
nig*ht  and  found  Charles  still  at  work  on  the  rough  draw 
ings  for  the  machine. 

"Wake  up,  old  man,  I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  Bob  said, 
slapping  him  on  the  back. 

Charley  pus'hed  back  from  the  table.  "I  was  just 
going  to  quit,  my  eyes  hurt;  fire  away,"  he  replied. 

Bob  pulled  a  chair  up,  and  after  he  had  sat  for  a 
little  time  with  his  eyes  on  the  floor,  he  looked  up  and 
said :  "You  remember  that  girl  I  wanted  to  show  you  ?" 
Charley  nodded.  "Well  I've  been  to  her  home  a  number 
of  times.  The  first  time  her  mother  just  <eyed  me ;  every 
move  I  made,  whether  I  could  see  her  or  not,  that  old 
woman's  eyes  were  fairly  screwed  into  me — and  if  I  so 
much  as  looked  at  Mary  she'd  manage  to  wiggle  around 
where  she  fiould  get  between  us." 

79 


8O  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"Well,  it's  interesting  all  right,"  Charley  smiled 
broadly,  and  asked,  "what  happened  the  last  time?" 

"Happened!"  Bob  fairly  shouted,  "It  mostly  hap 
pened  between  times.  You  see,  the  old  woman  got  out 
of  Mary  all  she  knew  about  my  boarding  place,  where  I 
work,  and  about  my  aunt  who  lives  here.  Last  Tuesday 
morning  she  started  out  to  investigate " 

"Investigate?" 

"Yes,  the  old  lady  went  first  to  the  boarding  house 
and  when  I  went  to  dinner  the  star  boarders,  the  girls 
and  Mrs.  Williams,  had  their  faces  fairly  splitting.  I 
couldn't  think  what  ailed  them,  and  the  next  morning 
when  I  went  to  work  Wilson  called  me  into  the  office. 
'What  did  you  send  that  old  snoop  here  for?'  that's  the 
way  he  started  in  on  me.  'I  didn't  send  anyone  here,'  I 
told  him,  and  I  guess  he  tumbled ;  Lord,  how  he  laughed ! 
'Well,  I  wish  you  luck,  my  boy — but/  he  added,  'it  costs 
you  your  job  if  she  turns  up  again  in  business  hours  and 
pumps  me  another  quarter  of  a  day,  mind  that/  I  was 
feeling  pretty  cheap  when  I  went  out  of  the  office,  but 
that  was  easy  compared  to  going  back  to  Mrs.  Wil 
liams',  for  you  see  I  had  tumbled  to  the  fact  that  I 
owed  that  outfit  of  grins  to  Mrs.  Holcomb's  having  been 
there,  too.  But  that  wasn't  the  worst.  Day  before  yes 
terday  I  got  a  note  from  my  aunt  saying  she  wanted 
to  see  me.  Of  course  I  went,  but,  on  the  dead,  if  I 
had  known  that  the  old  lady  had  been  out  there  trying 
to  pry  the  lid  off  our  family  history  I'd  have  left  town 
first." 

"Why  in  the  world  did " 

"Don't  break  in  until  I  get  through.  Let  me  get  it 
all  off  my  mind,"  Bob  implored.  Charley  nodded  as 
sent,  but  the  grin  on  his  face  was  a  challenge  in  itself. 

"Grin,  blame  you,  I  know  it's  fun  for  you.  Well,  as 
soon  as  I  got  out  to  aunt's  she  looked  me  all  over  in 
the  queerest  way,  then  asked  me  if  I  knew  anyone 
named  Holcomb.  Guess  I  must  have  blushed  or  some 
thing,  for  she  said,  Then  that  woman  wasn't  altogether 
crazy.'  'Has  she  been  here?'  I  managed  to  ask,  and  I 
felt  like  crawling  through  the  floor.  Then  aunt  handed 
it  to  me  straight.  'Yes/  she  had  her  nose  up  a  mile 
as  she  said  it,  'she's  been  here— and  Bobby,  I  want  to 
know  what  sort  of  outlandish  people  you  are  associat- 


THE  INVESTIGATION  OF  THOMPSON  8 1 

ing  with?'  Mind,  if  you  should  ever  think  of  marrying 
into  that  family  I  would  disown  you/  When  she  shot 
that  at  me  I  got  hot  under  the  collar  and  did  a  little 
talking  on  my  own  account.  I'm  afraid,  now,  that  I 
talked  Mary  pretty  strong." 

"You  don't  need  to  worry  over  that,  Bob ;  you  couldn't 
talk  her  half  as  strong  as  she  deserves,"  Charley  inter 
rupted,  and  this  time  he  blushed  and  looked  down  as 
he  caught  the  quick  and  comprehending  look  Bob  gave 
him. 

But  the  latter  only  grunted  as  he  went  on  with  his 
story:  "After  my  little  spiel,  aunt  took  another  tack, 
and  told  me  how  Mrs.  Holcomb  had  introduced  herself 
and  assured  aunt  that  I  was  'a-payin'  particular  atten 
tions  to  her  darter,  as  you  might  say/  Then  she  went 
after  our  family  history  and  stuck  to  it  until  aunt  was 
at  her  wits'  ends — but  that  isn't  the  worst." 

"Isn't  the  worst/'  Charley  repeated  after  him. 

"No!  You  see,  when  I  got  away  from  aunt's  and 
had  another  set-to  at  the  boarding-house  I  was  in  just 
the  proper  shape  for  a  fight.  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
that  Mrs.  Holcomb  had  shot  her  wad,  and  I  proposed 
to  take  a  turn  with  the  gun  myself.  You  know  I  went 
to  choir  practice  last  night?"  Charley  nodded.  "Well, 
I  met  Mary,  as  a  matter  of  course — and  I  don't  believe 
to  this  minute  that  she  knows  anything  about  the  old 
woman's  butting  in.  Anyway,  I  made  a  date  for  to 
night,  and  took  her  home  from  practice.  When  we  got 
home  from  church  Mary  took  my  hat  and  we  had  just 
got  seated  in  their  stuffy  little  box  of  a  parlor  when 
the  old  lady  came  in,  leading  Jed  by  the  arm.  When 
she'd  got  him  into  the  room  she  said:  'Jed,  you  take 
Mary  and  go  out  to  the  kitchen — I'm  goin'  t'  have  a 
word  with  Mr.  Thompson/  You  could  have  put  me  in 
a  mighty  small  package,  Bob  admitted,  mopping  his  face 
as  he  proceeded.  "Mary  looked  scared,  and  Jed  tried 
to  say  something,  but  it  got  mixed  up  with  a  cough  or 
two,  and  neither  of  them  came  out  right,  and  she  just 
bundled  them  out.  By  that  time  I  was  ready  to  run; 
somehow  my  desire  for  fight  had  evaporated,  and  I 
wanted  to  pray,  or  anything  to  get  rid  of  the  interview 
I  could  see  coming  my  way.  She  pulled  a  chair  over  in 
front  of  me,  and  plumping  herself  down  in  it  grabbed 


82  MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

both  arms,  as  though,  if  I  made  a  wrong  move,  she  fully 
intended  to  jerk  them  off  and  bat  me  over  the  head 
with  them.  'I  want  to  ask  you,  young  feller,  what  your 
intentions  is?'  was  the  first  thing  she  fired  at  me,  and 
her  nose  wasn't  two  feet  from  mine — I  guess  that  was 
the  highest  I  looked  during  the  whole  interview — and  I 
guess  I  must  have  given  her  a  foolish  answer,  for " 

"I'd  like  to  have  a  woman  try  that  on  me,"  Charley 
interposed. 

"Would,  eh?     Well,  it's  up  to  you  if  you  want  to 
try  it." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Wait  until  I  get  through." 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you  let  the  old  lady 
run  you  off?" 

"Can't  you  wait?  Where  was  I?  Oh,  yes — she'd 
asked  me  about  my  intentions,  and  then  opened  up 
again :  'Young  feller,  I've  bin  waitin'  quite  a  spell  a-try- 
in'  t'  decide  jist  what  my  Christian  duty  t'  my  darter 
was ;  an'  I  was  led  t'  ask  th'  parson — he  told  me  to  oncet 
— investigate  that  young  man's  anti-cedents.  Jed  'lowed 
that  word  meant  a  considerable,  an'  th'  doctor's  wife, 
she  said  it  meant  your  family  history  an'  actions  an' 
sich ;  an'  she  seemed  real  interested.' " 

Bob  eyed  the  grinning  mechanic  on  the  other  side  of 
the  table.  "Darn  you,  I'd  like  to  throw  something  at 
you,"  he  confessed. 

"Wait  a  week,"  Charley  advised;  then  promised  not 
to  grin  if  Bob  would  finish  the  story. 

"Well,  here  goes.  'Now,  young  feller,'  she  says  to 
me,  'you  might  jist  as  well  understand  first  as  last  that 
I  hain't  bin  readin'  them  city  newspapers  all  these  here 
months  fer  nothin';  an'  I  don't  propose  that  none  of 
them  wolves  in  sheeps'  skins  as  is  a-triflin'  with  all  th' 
young  girls  they  chance  upon  shall  rend  an'  tear  my  one 
ewe  lamb.' 

"Right  there  I  tried  to  get  in  a  word,  but  she 
wouldn't  have  it.  'You  jist  keep  still  till  I'm  through, 
an'  then  if  you've  got  th'  brass  t'  brazen  it  out,  why, 
jist  crack  your  heels  together — but  I  warn  you  Jed's 
in  th'  back  room,  so  you  be  careful  what  you  say  to  me.' 
Now,  wasn't  that  a  pretty  stiff  proposition  to  go  up 
against?"  Bob  asked. 


THE  INVESTIGATION  OF  THOMPSON  83 

Charley  ignored  the  question  and  asked  for  the  rest 
of  the  story. 

"I  told  her  I  was  perfectly  harmless,  and  she  lit  into 
me  again:  1  follered  the  advice  of  th'  doctor's  wife 
an'  my  own  conscience,  an'  I  can  say  they  hain't  any 
thing  I  hev  hearn  about  you  as  makes  me  hanker  t'  have 
you  fer  a  son-in-law.  You  smoke — an'  you  hev  flirted 
with  all  sorts  of  girls — an'  your  father's  family  was  all 
Piscopalians,  an'  your  mother's  folks  didn't  have  no  re 
ligion  at  all,  an'  as  far  as  your  own  goes,  young  feller, 
your  own  boss  told  me  you  worked  on  Sundays,  an' 
he  admitted  t'  me  that  you  swore  like  a  pirate ;  an'  your 
aunt  says  you  will  be  th'  death  of  her  with  your  wild 
ways,  an'  besides,  she  told  me  you  had  inherited  fits 
from  some  of  the  family,  an'  was  like  to  come  down 
with  them  at  any  time;  an'  your  boarding  missus,  arter 
I'd  told  her  of  my  tryin'  to  protect  my  Mary,  she  up 
an'  told  me  you  wasn't  no  more  of  a  Christian  then  Bob 
Ingersall,  an' 'she  allowed  you  never  went  t'  th'  Baptis' 
church  till  Mary  come  t'  town,  an'  she  told  me  t'  be 
ware.'  She  did  halt  there  to  take  a  fresh  breath,"  Bob 
observed  with  a  sigh,  then  continued:  "In  the  next 
round  she  came  in  strong  on  her  religion,  and  knocked 
me  plumb  out  of  the  box.  'I  want  you  t'  know  that  I'm 
a  Baptis'  as  believes  ev'ry  word  in  th'  Bible,  an'  I 
had  all  th'  fightin'  fer  souls  I  want  when  I  undertook 
t'  tear  Jed  Holcomb  as  a  brand  from  th'  burnin'.  Young 
feller,  Jed  was  as  stiff-necked  an'  uncircumcised  a  sin 
ner  as  ever  I  seen  'fore  I  set  eyes  on  you,  when  I  took 
him  in  hand — an'  he's  saved  to-day.  Now,  what  I  want 
to  know  is,  are  you  goin'  t'  pester  Mary  any  more  ?' " 
Bob  paused. 

"And  you  sneaked,"  Charley  sneered  as  he  reached 
up  and  felt  along  the  shelf  above  his  head  for  a  pipe. 

"Sneaked  ?  Why,  no,  not  immediately — I  simply  told 
her  she  was  wasting  her  breath — that  I  was  innocent  of 
practically  everything  my  friends  had  charged  me  with, 
but  as  she  so  strongly  objected,  I  would  not  see  Mary 
again — why,  I'd  as  soon  be  in  the  infernal  regions,  with 
my  back  broke,  as  to  marry  a  woman  from  that  school." 

"Bobby,  you  didn't  love  the  girl — no,  it  wasn't  love," 
then  after  a  pause:  "I  believe  you  said  it  was  up  to 
me?" 


84  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"Yes,  I  said  it;  and  I'll  bet  you  the  price  of  a  wed 
ding  suit  that  you  don't  last  as  long  as  a  politician  in 
heaven." 

"That's  a  go,"  Charley  answered  with  gusto;  "put 
it  at  fifty  dollars,  and  I'll  enter  the  lists." 

"All  right,  it's  up  to  you,  and  I  will  give  you  just 
three  months  from  to-night  to  make  good,"  Bob  de 
clared. 

"That's  about  October  ist,"  Charley  commented,  as 
he  shook  hands  across  the  table  with  his  room-mate  and 
one-time  rival,  though  the  rival  was  all  unconscious  of 
having  played  the  part. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

MOTHER   HOLCOMB   IS   CIRCUMVENTED. 

October  1st  came  as  must  come  all  dates  between 
this  and  the  final  date  of  time,  and  found  Charley  Har 
ris  bending  over  the  plans  for  the  coming  automatic 
moulder,  which  were  spread  out  on  the  table  of  his  and 
Bob's  room,  when  the  latter  entered,  and  without  a  word 
laid  a  check  for  fifty  dollars  on  the  table  in  front  of  the 
mechanic.  As  Charley  looked  up  after  examining  the 
bit  of  paper  thrust  between  him  and  his  work,  Bob 
said: 

"Not  a  word,  old  man — you  won  it  fairly,  and  if 
you  didn't,  I  would  have  held  you  to  your  end  of  the 
wager." 

"But  I  don't  want  the  money,  Bob;  it  would  have 
served  me  right  if  I  had  lost  out — and  do  you  know  I 
sometimes  feel  a  bit  mean  when  I  think  of  the  way  I 
took  to  win  it — and  the  girl.  Still,  I  love  Mary,  and 
she  was  worth  winning,  even  as  I  won  her." 

"That's  the  point,  Charley.  Tell  me  how  you  cir 
cumvented  the  old  lady;  but  first  put  that  check  in  your 
pocket." 

"Bobby,"  said  Charley,  and  he  looked  his  grimmest, 
"for  what  I've  done  may  the  Lord  forgive  me.  I've  lied ; 
I've  cozened  my  mother-in-law-to-be;  I've  swallowed 
the  Baptist  church  whole ;  I've  mothered  her ;  I've  accept 
ed  her  Bible  and  whole  philosophy  of  life  at  her 
figure,  and  am  to  pay  her  out  in  a  life  service  to  a  God 
who  wouldn't  be  allowed  to  do  more  than  one  year's 
business  in  a  barnyard,  for  any  careful  breeder  of  im 
proved  stock.  I've  raked  Father  Jed  over  the  coals  for 
his  religious  shortcomings,  and  the  one  spot  of  saving 
grace  for  me,  so  far  as  the  old  folks  are  concerned,  lies 
in  the  fact,  or  rather  conviction  I  hold,  that  the  old  man 
is  on." 

"On  to  what?"  Bob  demanded. 
85 


86  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"On  to  me  with  both  feet.  This  is  how  I  got  next: 
About  a  month  ago  he  ventured  an  opinion  on  a  matter 
of  fai-th;  mother-in-law-to-be  snapped  him  up  in  a  min 
ute,  and  I  piled  in  and  helped  her  pulverize  him.  When 
I  had  finished,  the  old  lady  was  chuckling,  and  I  turned 
to  Jed  to  see  how  he  was  taking  his  medicine — skin  me, 
if  he  didn't  wink  at  me  and  grin.  Of  course  I  wasn't 
absolutely  certain,  but  after  he  had  shaken  hands  twice 
With  me  as  I  came  away,  I  began  to  do  some  tall  think 
ing  about  the  state  of  Father  Holcomb's  immortal  soul." 

Bob  was  anxious  to  have  the  meat  of  the  story,  but 
Charley  insisted  at  this  point  upon  putting  his  pipe  in 
commission  before  he  proceeded.  "Last  week  I  had  an 
other  chance  to  help  the  old  lady  out,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  Jed  had  perked  up  quite  a  bit  in  combativeness,  just 
to  give  me  a  chance.  While  the  battle  raged,  I  got  two 
of  the  broadest  winks  ever,  and  when  I  started  away 
the  old  man  followed  me  to  the  gate  and  was  so  all-fired 
good  to  me  that  I  up  and  asked  him  for  Mary.  Bob, 
he  led  me  right  back  to  the  house;  caught  the  old  lady 
with  her  shoes  off  and  her  hair  down  and  had  the  thing 
fixed  right  there — then  Mary  and  I  got  our  first  hour 
alone  in  almost  three  months — well, 'I  guess  I  earned  it 
all  right." 

"I  don't  see  the  connection  between  Mr.  Holcomb's 
friendliness  and  your  antagonism,"  Bob  insisted,  with 
a  puzzled  look. 

"Took  me  two  weeks  to  figure  it  out,"  Charley  laugh 
ed.  "You  see,  it  is  this  way — you  know  Mrs.  Hoi- 
comb,"  Bob  screwed  his  face  into  a  grimace.  "You  re 
member  she  gave  herself  credit  with  having  snatched  Jed 
as  a  brand  from  the  burning?" 

"Well,  he's  just  a  bit  nearer  that  lake  of  brim 
stone  than  he  was  before  she  saved  him — unless  the 
Lord  will  allow  him  to  enter  a  plea  of  self-defense,  and 
nolle  pros,  the  indictment  against  him.  He's  a  hypo 
crite  and  he  knows  I'm  another." 

"And  misery  toves  company,  eh,  Charley??"  was  the 

sum  of  Bob's  comment. 

****** 

Within  a  month  after  the  wedding,  Charles  Harris 
might  have  been  found  hard  at  work  in  Father  Hoi- 
comb's  barn  where  he  had  fitted  up  a  shop  and  was  get- 


MOTHER    HOLCOMB    IS   CIRCUMVENTED  87 

ting  his  machine  under  way.  Jed  was  his  constant  com 
panion,  and  by  much  urging  had  induced  Charley  to  use 
some  of  his  funds  for  material  and  tools  with  which  to 
push  the  work  in  hand. 

After  all  the  years  of  dreaming,  planning  and  model 
ing,  the  inventor  had  at  last  come  to  the  promised  land. 
No  longer  were  such  trivial  things  as  a  mother-in-law's 
objection  to  the  neglect  of  Wednesday  evening  prayer 
meetings,  or  a  wife's  plea  that  she  hardly  ever  saw  him, 
to  interfere  with  the  prosecution  of  his  work.  Feverishly 
he  labored — begrudging  even  the  time  he  took  at  table 
as  so  much  time  lost. 

When  the  young  folks  were  married  and  Charley  had 
moved  his  possessions  to  the  Holcomb  home,  the  father 
seemed  to  take  new  hold  upon  life,  and  a  transforma 
tion  was  wrought  that  boded  but  ill  for  Martha's  rule. 
Now  it  was  Jed  who  defended  Charley  when  either  of 
the  women  complained  of  his  underworship  and  over 
work.  In  turn  Charley  grew  perceptibly  weaker  in  de 
fense  of  the  great  truths  promulgated  by  his  mother-in- 
law.  But  she  knew  Jed  so  well,  or  at  least  thought  she 
did,  that  she  straightway  laid  all  the  younger  man's  sins 
at  her  husband's  door.  He  denied  strenuously  that  he 
was  in  any  way  culpable,  and  as  firmly  insisted  that  Char 
ley's  being  so  ambitious  to  make  a  fortune  out  of  his 
machine  was  all  that  ailed  him. 

Within  six  months  after  his  marriage,  thanks  to  the 
assistance  of  the  head  of  the  house,  the  automatic  moul 
der  was  built  and  ready  for  a  test. 

As  an  especial  mark  of  honor,  Bob  Thompson  was 
invited  to  witness  the  testing  of  the  first  machine  for 
casting  iron  automatically. 

Mary  and  her  mother  visited  the  shop  early  in  the 
morning  and  found  the  mechanic  filling  the  small  furnace 
for  a  test  heat.  When  they  entered  he  dropped  the 
"pig"  he  was  about  to  put  into  the  furnace  and  put  his 
arm  about  his  wife's  waist.  "Mary,  it's  one  of  the  hap 
piest  days  of  my  life,"  he  told  her.  "When  I  went  into 
the  foundry  as  a  boy  I  thought  of  that  machine  you  see 
standing  there,  and  not  a  day  has  come  since  that  I 
have  not  divided  my  thoughts  between  the  machine  and 
the  other  things  I  had  to  think  of  to  live." 


90  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

auditors — "It  works  perfectly,  so  I  guess  I  will  put  on 
the  belt  and  run  it  empty  for  a  few  minutes  before  giv 
ing  it  the  iron — then  you  will  see  it  do  the  work  of  fifty 
men  as  long  as  the  iron  lasts." 

"If  it  does  that  why  not  put  it  to  work  in  the  foun 
dry? — you  say  it  is  not  to  go  out  of  this  shop."  Bob 
could  not  catch  the  mechanic's  viewpoint. 

"But  this  isn't  the  machine  I  now  have  in  mind," 
the  inventor  protested.  As  the  belt  crawled  slowly  into 
place  on  the  tight  pulley  and  the  machine  began  its 
labor,  he  went  on,  "This  machine  simply  demonstrates 
the  reasonableness  of  my  hope  to  make  it  more  nearly 
automatic,  more  rapid,  more  compact,  and  consequently 
less  expensive  to  -operate — now  watch.  Remember,  I 
have  never  tested  the  assembled  machine,  yet  I  would 
stake  my  life  on  its  doing  the  work,  for  each  part  has 
been  tested  separately.  That's  the  hand  process  of  man 
ufacture,  here  all  the  hand  tools  are  coordinated  and 
the  machine  takes  the  place  of  skilled  workers  .and  oper 
ates  all  these  tools  at'  once,  where  they  could  only  be 
used  one  at  a  time.  Now  watch  closely  as  I  lift  this 
gate,  iron  as  thin  as  water,  and  as  hot  as  a  place  we  have 
heard  mentioned,  father — "  he  looked  up  at  Jed,  and 
both  smiled — "pours  out  into  this  measuring  device  and 
tips  into  the  flask.  Watch  the  next  flask  come  up  for 
its  share  of  the  molten  iron.  Now,  come  over  on  this 
side  and  watch  the  filled  flask ;  see  ?  As  it  comes  to  this 
side  it  begins  to  open — there  you  have  the  finished  prod 
uct.  Don't  touch  it,"  he  called  out  as  Bob  scooped  and 
was  about  to  take  hold  of  the  casting  just  ejected  from 
the  machine.  "It's  all  but  red  hot,"  Charley  warned 
him,  and  then  said :  "Keep  your  eye  on  that  empty  flask ; 
see,  it  next  stops  over  a  blast  of  cold  air,  while  the 
flask  on  the  other  side  is  taking  its  icharge.  The  cold 
blast  reduces  the  heat  of  the  mould  so  it  will  the  more 
readily  absorb  the  heat  from  the  next  charge  of  metal." 

While  the  machine  labored  on,  kicking  out  casting 
after  casting,  the  three  men  stood  about  it  in  silence. 
Charley  finally  took  up  a  bucket  of  water  and  cooled  off 
the  first  castings  from  the  "Harris  Automatic  Moulding 
Machine."  Taking  up  the  first  one  that  came  from  the 
machine  he  said :  "This  is  the  only  thing  I  shall  save 


MOTHER   HOLCOMB   IS  CIRCUMVENTED  QI 

from  all  the  visible  results  of  my  years  of  labor — 'the 
first  perfect  casting  from  an  automatic  machine." 

He  stood  erect,  the  pride  of  power,  of  mastery, 
illumining  his  face.  "To-day,"  he  looked  from  one  to 
the  other,  "I  shall  break  this  machine  up,  and  to-morrow, 
if  you  oare  to  look  at  it,  it  will  be  found  in  the  alley 
yonder,  on  exhibition  in  the  form  of  junk — a  mass  of 
twisted  and  broken  metal — nothing  more." 

"Charley,"  Jed  protested,  "it's  cost  you  more  than  a 
thousand  dollars,  'sides  your  time,  and  as  old  junk  it 
won't  bring  ten  dollars — what  sort  of  talk " 

"That's  all  true,  father,  but  I'm  talking  sense  just 
the  same.  This  machine  will  be  more  valuable  to  me  as 
junk  than,  it  is  in  its  present  form.  To  build  it  on  lines 
I  now  have  laid  out  it  must  be  rebuilt  from  the  ground 
up.  So  it  has  to  go,  and  so  have  I." 

"Not  leave  us,  Charley !"  the  old  man  protested. 

"Yes,"  the  mechanic  with  a  vision  before  him,  re 
plied  kindly,.  "I've  got  to  have  better  facilities  for  work 
and  better  materials  to  work  with.  In  fact,  I've  got  to 
go  to  a  big  city  where  all  my  wants  may  be  supplied 
at  first  hand — and,  anyway,  my  machine  belongs  to  the 
big  cities;  it  would  be  worse  than  useless  in  Whislow's 
foundry." 

Bob's  eyes  were  filled  with  wonder  of  the  thing — 
here  was  a  mechanic  who  had  given  years  of  labor  to 
the  accomplishment  of  a  single  task,  and  in  his  hour  of 
triumph  over  all  his  fears  he  quietly  condemned  the 
visible  result  of  those  hungry  years  to  destruction,  and 
did  it  with  a  smile — it  was  all  outside  Bob  Thompson's 
comprehension.  He  gave  one  more  look  at  the  machine 
as  it  stood  silent  after  its  work  was  finished,  then  at  the 
inventor,  and  as  he  turned  at  the  door,  said :  "Charley, 
I  don't  need  to  wish  you  luck.  Any  one  who  can  build 
such  a  machine  as  that  can  have  nothing  but  luck." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


A    MECHANIC  S    VISION. 

When  Jed  Holcomb  left  the  shop  the  day  Charley 
tested  his  machine  he  went  sadly  to  the  house;  no  clear 
idea  of  what  Charley's  determination  to  move  to  a 
larger  city  meant  to  him  had  been  reasoned  out  as  yet. 
He  only  knew  that  the  young  folks  were  dearer  to  him 
than  life.  As  for  argument  for  or  against  such  a  move, 
he  had  none.  He  had  not  been  long  in  the  house  when 
Martha  noticed  his  gloomy  look. 

"Land  sakes,  Jed!"  she  exclaimed,  "one  'ud  think 
Charley's  contraption  had  blowed  up  an*  scattered  things 
t'  th'  four  winds,  t'  look  at  you.  What's  the  matter? 
Your  old  liver  trouble  comin'  back?  You  jist  wait  right 
where  you  be.  I'll  git  th'  burdock — Mary  wanted  t' 
leave  it  on  th'  farm  fer  that  Jake  Simpson's  shif'less 
wife  t'  throw  away.  Why,  Jed,  what's  the  matter  with 
you?  I  swan  if  there  hain't  tears  in  your  eyes." 

Jed  drew  a  sleeve  furtively  across  his  eyes  and  sat 
down  with  a  sigh. 

"What'n  th'  world—"  Martha  began. 

'  Tain't  nothin'  th'  matter  of  my  liver,  mother,"  he 
answered  lamely.  "I  just  found  out  the  children  is  goin' 
to  pack  up  an'  leave  us " 

"W-h-a-t?" 

"Yes,  mother,  Charley  is  a-plannin'  to  go  to  some 
big  city,  Chicago  most  likely,  to  make  a  grander  ma 
chine — tho'  what  he  can  want  with  a  better  machine 
than  the  one  he's  smashin'  to  bits  out  in  th'  shop  is  more 
than  I  know." 

"You  don't  tell  me  that  boy  is  a-bustin'  that  ma 
chine  to  flinders?  Jed,  hez  he  gone  crazy?  That  ma 
chine  hez  cost  him  most  five  hundred  dollars.  I'm  goin' 
t'  see  what  he's  a-doin'." 

"Wait,  mother,  don't  you  go,"  Jed  pleaded. 
92 


93 

"Don't  go  your  grandmother/'  was  all  he  heard  as 
Martha  started  for  the  shop. 

The  mechanic  was  taking  measurements  with  calliper 
and  rule,  comparing  his  findings  with  the  dimensions 
given  on  the  drawings  then  under  way  for  the  new  ma 
chine,  when  Martha  entered.  There  was  a  catch  in  her 
hard  old  voice  as  she  began:  "Charley,  Jed  says  as 
you  are  thinkin'  of  leavin'  us?" 

Charley  looked  keenly  into  her  face,  and  his  answer 
was  as  gentle  as  though  it  had  been  offered  at  her  knee. 
"Mother,  I've  got  to  go — go  somewhere  where  my  ma 
chine  can  have  a  chance.  Besides,  I  feel  that  I  must 
get  acquainted  with  men  of  wider  experience  in  my  line 
before  I  build  my  new  machine." 

"Then  Jed  was  right.  You  intend  to  do  away  with 
that  one?" 

"Yes,  mother,  my  work  here  is  finished,  and  so  is 
the  work  of  this  machine.  You  see  it  was  only  built  for 
a  day,  if  it  was  a  success,  and  it  was.  Now  its  work  is 
finished,  and  out  of  its  clumsy  bulk  I  am  going  to  build 
the  machine  I  have  had  in  mind  for  years  and  years. 
It's  like  this,  mother:  while  I  had  plenty  of  faith  to 
keep  me  digging  away  at  it,  and  a  willingness  to  put 
all  the  money  I  could  spare  into  it,  still,  there  was  al 
ways  a  doubt  ready  to  take  hold  of  me  as  to  the  thing 
really  being  a  success.  To-day  it  has  proven  even  more 
of  a  success  than  I  had  ever  hoped  the  first  machine 
would.  To-morrow  I  can  go  ahead  on  the  perfected 
machine  without  a  single  fear — and  that  means  better 
work.  No  more  experiments.  Just  building  for  perfec 
tion.  Don't  you  see?"  he  asked,  noticing  her  troubled 
look. 

"No,  I  don't  see.  An'  what's  more,  there's  a  lot  of 
things  I  won't  see — Mary's  goin'  away,  for  one  thing," 
and  she  left  him. 

That  evening,  after  a  supper  eaten  in  silence,  the 
family  gathered  in  the  sitting  room.  Charley's  machine 
lay  a  wreck  in  the  shop— Martha  had  satisfied  herself  on 
that  point. 

"Well,"  Jed  observed  after  a  prolonged  silence,  punc 
tuated  by  the  click  of  Martha's  knitting  needles,  "seems 
as  tho'  there  might  be  a  storm  to-night,  th'  way  things 
is  brewin'." 


94  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"You  alludin'  t'  me,  Jed  Holcomb?"  the  wife  de 
manded,  dropping  her  knitting  into  her  lap.  "You  al 
ludin' t' me  ?" 

"I  was  a-alludin'  t*  th'  clouds,  mother,"  he  pro 
tested. 

"Well,  you'd  better  allude  t'  somethin'  closer  home — 
with  your  crazy  son-in-law  a-hammerin'  a  thousand  dol 
lars'  worth  of  property  into  flinders,  an'  a-threatenin'  t' 
take  Mary,  my  Mary,  into  one  of  them  big  towns  where 
there  hain't  nothin'  but  dirt,  an'  sin,  an*  robbin'  an*  mur 
der.  Jed  Holcomb,"  she  shook  an  accusing  finger  at 
her  husband,  "I  swan  f  man  ef  I  don't  half  believe 
you've  bin  a-conspirin'  with  him." 

"Mother,  I  hain't  no  such  thing,"  Jed  protested 
stoutly. 

"You  shet  right  up,  Jed  Holcomb!  They  hain't  no 
livin'  man  can  come  it  over  me!  Hain't  you  two  bin 
as  close  as  two  born  twins  ever  since  Charley  come 
a-courtin'  my  Mary?  An'  you've  bin  thicker'n  molasses 
in  January  ever  since  they  was  married." 

"Now,  mother,  don't  you  git  on  no  tantrum,"  Jed 
implored,  while  the  young  folks  sat  dumb  before  the  ris 
ing  tide  of  Martha's  wrath. 

"Tantrum,  tantrum,  is  it?  Well,  I'd  jist  like  t'  know 
who  wouldn't  tantrum?  Didn't  he  promise  me  he 
wouldn't  take  Mary  away;  an'  didn't  he  promise  faith 
ful  t'  jine  th'  church?  An' t'  hear  him  talk  you  wouldn't 
a-thought  butter'd  melt  in  his  mouth — th'  hypocrite! 
Don't  you  look  at  me  that  way,  Jed  Holcomb." 

"I  hain't  a-goin'  to,  mother,"  he  whimpered. 

"An'  you  better  not!  Hain't  you  bin  a-aidin'  an' 
abettin'  him  in  a-breakin'  th'  Sabbath?  You  don't  dast 
t'  say  you  hain't.  An'  now  arter  spendin'  all  his  money 
an'  a-livin'  here  board  free  for  months,  an'  Mary  in  th' 
condition  she  is,  he  up  an'  busts  that  devil's  contraption 
of  his  to  bits  an'  says  he's  goin'  t'  take  my  Mary  away 
from  me;  an*  you  jist  set  there  a-waggin'  your  head 
like  a  old  fool.  Jed  Holcomb,  hain't  you  got  no  man 
in  you?  Hain't  you  goin'  t'  say  nothin'  ag'in  this  at 
all?"  Martha's  eyes  were  as  hard  as  diamonds,  and 
tho'  her  chin  trembled,  her  iron  soul  held  her  lips  in  a 
firm  line. 

"Mother,  I  can't  seem  t'  see  no  reason  in  standin* 


A  MECHANIC'S  VISION  95 

in  Charley's  way — an'  as  fer  Mary — why,  when  I  mar 
ried  you,  I  took  you  from  your  mother,  didn't  I?" 

"When  you  married  me !  You  didn't  marry  me,  Jed 
Holcomb.  I  done  th'  marryin' — an'  I  could  stand  alone, 
an'  I've  done  it  all  my  life — an'  my  Mary  isn't  me. 
She  don't  know  no  more  how  t'  stand  up  fer  herself  than 
a  newborn  baby — an'  if  she  did,  she  hain't  a-goin'  to, 
so  there !" 

"But,  mother,"  Mary  interposed,  "if  Charley's  work 
must  be  finished  somewhere  else " 

"Mary  Holcomb  Harris,  you  shet  right  up — I  hain't 
a-goin'  t'  quarrel  with  you,  you  in  the  condition  you're 
in — but  I  will  say,  that  you  bein'  as  soft  as  putty,  that 
man,"  pointing  a  shaking  ringer  at  Charley,  "could  wrap 
you  around  his  finger;  an'  after  he's  lied  to  me  like  he 
has,  it's  my  bounden  duty  t'  protect  your  everlastin' 
soul." 

"Mother,  mother,  mother,  what's  the  use  of  all  this," 
Charley  exclaimed,  "what's  the  use  of  all  this?  I  am 
willing  to  admit  that  I  practiced  a  little  harmless  decep 
tion  in  order  to  win  your  consent  to  my  marrying 
Mary." 

"Well,  if  I  ever,"  Martha  began,  but  he  went  on: 

"Listen,  mother,  I  loved  Mary  from  the  very  first 
time  I  saw  her,  and  was  eating  my  heart  out  all  the 
time  Bob  was  going  with  her.  When  he  came  to  me 
and  told  me  how  you  had  investigated  him,  I  deter 
mined  to  win  Mary  if  I  could,  and  in  any  way  I  could. 
I  loved  her  and  I  wanted  her."  Leaning  over  his  wife's 
chair,  he  put  his  arms  about  her  and,  lifting  her  face  to 
his,  kissed  her.  Looking  up  with  a  smile  into  the  angry 
face  of  the  mother,  he  said :  "I  love  her  better  to-night 
than  ever  before,  and  you  must  understand  me.  I  do 
not  want  to  take  her  away  from  you  until  after  our  baby 
comes — and  I  do  want  you  to  forgive  me — I — I  believe 
I  appreciate  how  you  feel ' 

"You" — Martha's  voice  was  husky  with  suppressed 
anger — "you  know  how  I  feel,  Charles  Harris.  Then 
answer  me  this :  didn't  you  come  into  my  house  like  a 
thief  in  th'  night,  a  professin'  religion  an*  a  dissem- 
blin'?" 

"Yes,  mother ;  but  I  loved  Mary." 


96  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"Don't  you  call  me  mother  no  more,"  Martha  cried 
as  she  started  from  her  chair  and  shook  an  accusing 
finger  in  his  face. 

"There,  there,  mother,  do  be ' 

"Jed  Holcomb,"  she  turned  upon  him  squarely,  "you 
listen  t'  me.  This  man  admits  he's  lied,  an'  stole,  an' 
has  no  religion,  an* — • — " 

"But  I  have  a  religion,"  Charley  protested,  "a  re 
ligion  that  sees  God  in  the  machine  I  just  destroyed; 
will  see  him  bigger  and  better  in  the  one  I  am  to  build. 
Why,  I  see  him  in  Mary ;  in  the  trees  and  flowers ;  in  the 
whole  world,  just  as  my  mother  does,  and  besides " 

"An  idolator  t'  boot!"  the  mother  exclaimed. 
"Charles  Harris,  didn't  you  go  down  on  your  knees  in 
my  church  an'  pertend  t'  pray  t'  my  God?  Didn't  you 
ask  him,  an'  me  a-list'nin',  t'  give  you  a  new  heart?  An 
swer  me  that." 

"Mother,  I  protest  that  it  seemed  but  a  form  to  me. 
I  was  not  conscious  of  sinning  against  God,  tho'  I  was 
conscious  of  sinning  against  you.  Let  me  explain :  God 
to  me  is  infinite,  and  beyond  the  power  of  your  church, 
or  any  other  church,  for  that  matter,  to  fix  the  man 
ner  of  my  approach  to  him,  or  set  the  penalty  for  my 
shortcomings.  My  sins  of  omission  and  commission 
against  your  church  may  be  counted  as  sins  against 
you  who  hold  to  its  narrow  way.  I  admit  that  I  de 
ceived  you — but  I  could  never  have  deceived  my  God, 
He  knew  my  heart;  he  knew  my  struggle;  so  it  comes 
to  this,  that  I  must  answer  to  you  for  my  sinning;  I 
am  answering  now;  I  ask  you  to  forgive  me.  For 
Mary's  sake  and  the  baby,  mother,  forgive " 

His  plea  was  not  to  be  finished.  The  iron-souled 
warrior  of  the'  cross  lifted  her  hands  on  high  and 
prayed:  "Lord  of  mercy  an'  of  wrath,  bear  me  up  in 
what  I'm  about  t'  do,  an'  t'  suffer  fer  thy  name's  sake. 
Lord,  thou  hast  put  many  a  burden  on  me  in  times  past. 
Whilst  I  hev  halted  an'  bin  a-weary  in  th'  battle,  still, 
O  Lord,  thou  hast  strengthened  me.  Thou  hast  prom 
ised,  O  Lord,  that  th'  vials  of  divine  wrath  shall  be 
emptied  on  th'  heads  of  idolaters  an'  heathens,  an  scof 
fers  t'  th'  last  day.  An'  Lord,  I  beseech  thee  that  thou 
use  me,  thy  unworthy  servant,  as  a  chast'nin'  rod  even 


A  MECHANIC'S  VISION  97 

aginst  my  own  flesh  an'  blood.  An'  thine  be  th'  glory, 
amen." 

Three  auditors  had  sat  in  huddled  silence,  awed  by 
the  sincerity,  the  earnestness,  the  fervor  of  Martha's 
prayer.  When  she  had  finished,  she  stood  silent  for  a 
moment,  then  said  to  Charley:  "I  have  jist  one  word 
t'  say  t'  you  an"  I'm  done.  Mary  stays  here  till  th' 
baby's  born,  then  she  can  make  up  her  mind  whether 
she'll  go  to  th'  home  of  a  idolater  or  stay  under  th' 
shadow  of  th'  cross  of  Christ.  As  fer  you — I  won't 
never  speak  to  you  agin " 

"Oh,  mother,  don't  say  that !"  Mary  cried  out,  clasp 
ing  her  mother  in  her  arms,  to  be  pushed  away  as  Mar 
tha  continued,  in  her  religious  ecstasy  unmindful  of  the 
distress  of  her  daughter.  "You  can  stay  here  until 
Mary  is  through  her  trouble,  or  you  can  go,  but  from  to 
night  I  will  never  speak  t*  you  agin.  Jesus  Christ  an* 
my  darter  is  all  there  is  in  this  world  fer  me."  She 
turned  to  leave  the  room,  when  Jed  appealed  to  her : 

"Mother,  you  are  all  worked  up  over  nothin' — won't 
you  say  a  word  of  good  night  t'  me, — t'  us  ?"  But  with 
out  a  look  or  word  she  passed  out  of  the  room. 

"I  shall  hate  her !  Hate  her !  if  she  treats  you  that 
way,"  Mary  declared  when  they  had  gone  to  their  room. 

"No,  no,  sweetheart,  you  must  not,  you  must  not. 
She  may  not  forgive  me,  but  we  must  remember  some 
one  is  coming  to  live  with  us  in  a  little  while,  and  we 
must  not  hate.  We  must  love  our  mother;  we  can  do 
this  more  when  we  understand  that  she  suffers  as  deep 
ly  as  either  of  us.  She  believes  I  have  grossly  wronged 
both  her  and  God,  and  having  that  belief,  she  suffers 
even  more  than  I  do,  because  I  can  leave  God  out  of 
the  question  between  your  mother  and  myself.  Yes, 
girlie,  we  must  love  your  mother.  Our  baby  shall  not 
come  to  us  bearing  the  weight  of  our  transgressions. 
Whatever  happens,  keep  sweet,  little  wife,  keep  faith. 
Your  mother  is  not  the  Creator.  Her  anger,  even  her 
curses,  could  not  harm  us  more  than  we  permit  by  giv 
ing  way  to  resentment.  From  to-night  she  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  me,"  he  admitted  soberly,  "but  re 
member,  you  are  not  to  worry;  I  will  be  the  same  to 
her  as  I  have  been.  To-morrow  morning  bright  and 
early  I  will  go  to  the  city.  If  I  can  find  what  I  want  in 


98  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

St.  Louis  we  will  go  there,  if  not  we  will  go  to  Chi 
cago.  I  did  not  intend  to  go  for  a  couple  of  weeks,  but 
maybe  it  will  be  best  to  go  away  and  give  mother  a 
chance  to  think  the  whole  matter  over  before  she  sees 
too  much  of  me.  There,  there,  girlie,  don't  cry ;  the 
world  is  not  so  big  that  we  can  get  lost  in  it  any  more, 
and  if  we  keep  faith  and  love  with  us  always  it  will 
seem  but  a  small  place,  wherever  we  live.'* 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


AN  UNFINISHED  CHAPTER. 

"Land  sakes,  Mrs.  Norton,  an'  Elder  Smiley,  too. 
Well,  I  declare,  I  don't  see  how  you  can  stand  t'  be 
inside  sich  a  mornin'  as  this,  when  it's  jist  fine  out 
here  on  th'  portico."  The  speaker  was  none  other  than 
our  friend  Martha  Holcomb,  who  had  but  that  moment 
arrived  on  the  porch  that  adorned  her  nearest  neigh 
bor's  home  on  its  West  street  side.  In  the  pleasant 
south  room,  the  minister  had  but  rid  himself  of  his  hat 
and  taken  a  chair  at  the  window  when  Martha  chal 
lenged  attention  from  the  porch.  That  the  two  in  the 
south  room  avoided  the  porch  for  the  very  reason  that 
they  wished,  if  possible,  to  escape  a  meeting  with  their 
co-worker  in  the  vineyard,  seems  assured. 

"When  Martha  ceased  speaking,  the  minister  looked 
helplessly  at  his  hostess,  who  shook  her  head  ever  so 
little  and  called  out  to  her  neighbor:  "Won't  you  come 
in?" 

"I  certainly  shall,  'less  you  two  conies  out.  Land 
sakes,"  she  exclaimed,  seating  herself  in  one  of  the  wick 
er  porch  chairs,  "I  can't  fer  th'  life  of  me  see  what 
possesses  some  folks  t'  stick  t'  th'  insides  of  their  houses 
till  they  gets,  t'  lookin'  fer  all  th'  world  like  bleached 
celery." 

The  minister  sighed  and  went  out  on  the  porch,  where 
he  gave  Sister  Holcomb  formal  greeting  and  sat  him 
down. 

The  Rev.  Theodore  Smiley  was  a  man  of  some  parts 
and  considerable  experience.  He  had  entered  the  min 
istry  some  six  years  earlier  than  we  make  his  acquaint 
ance;  entered  it  with  a  profound  faith  in  the  saving 
grace  of  conversion.  To  him,  during  his  first  year's  min 
istry,  the  sinner  bowed  at  the  altar  asking  pardon  for 
past  sins,  protesting  present  repentance  and  promising 

99 


IOO  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

future  obedience  to  the  mandates  of  Christ,  represented 
the  sum  total  of  all  the  world  might  ask  of  the  sin 
ner.  This  was  to  him  the  supreme  test  of  life — a  thing 
sacred,  and  offered  but  once  in  a  lifetime — had  he  not 
felt  "the  power"  when  he  went  down  on  his  knees  and 
asked  that  he  be  allowed  to  consecrate  his  life  to  the 
service  of  the  Master? 

Years  spent  in  ministering  to  those  who  had  made 
a  like  confession,  brought  to  this  man  a  conviction  that 
a  wide  difference  of  opinion  existed  in  the  minds  of  the 
individual  members  of  his  church  as  to  what  constituted 
repentance,  conversion  and  sanctification.  The  joy  of 
service,  which  in  the  first  months  of  his  ministry  had 
lighted  up  his  face  from  inward  devotional  fires,  slowly 
died  down  when  the  weight  of  a  neighborhood's  past  mis 
deeds,  old  grudges  and  fault-findings  were  dumped  at 
his  door  and  he  was  asked  to  assume  responsibility  for 
the  future  conduct  of  those  suspected  of  past  sinnings. 

During  that  first  year  he  firmly  believed  in  sanctifica 
tion,  and  preached  it.  But  the  family  quarrels  into  which 
he  was  dragged  by  the  several  factions  in  the  church 
— each  insisting  the  other  was  without  grace — had  been 
enough  to  convince  him,  finally,  that,  regardless  of  their 
prayer-meeting  claims,  a  majority  of  his  flock  had  fallen 
far  short  of  the  full  privilege  of  religion. 

His  sermons  the  second  year  dealt  more  with  the  in 
dividual  requirements  for  a  sound  religious  experience, 
and  less  with  sanctification.  It  happened  that  his  word- 
pictures,  delineating  Christian  and  non-Christian  char 
acteristics  in  the  individual,  were  said,  by  a  number  of 
his  flock,  and  divers  of  the  unregenerated  world,  to 
"hit  at"  some  of  the  pillars  of  his  church.  Those  who 
were  said  to  be  "hit  at"  gave  weight  to  the  gossip  by 
evincing  unrest  while  under  the  voice  of  the  pastor.  It 
is  needless  to  say  'the  "pillars"  openly  questioned  the  min 
ister's  right  to  subject  the  saved  to  criticism,  while  the 
unsaved  world  numbered  its  millions  of  souls  on  the  way 
to  hell.  The  pastor  was  so  wrapped  up  in  his  work 
that  the  seeds  of  internal  strife  had  gone  far  toward 
germination  before  he  discovered  where  they  had  taken 
root.  Sadly  enough  he  gave  up  the  individual  and 
preached  all  the  way  from  "The  First  Sin"  to  "The 
Saving  Blood  of  Jesus,"  and  found  to  his  surprise,  a 


AN   UNFINISHED   CHAPTER  IOI 

vastly  different  attitude  in  the  "pillars,"  both  toward  him 
personally,  and  toward  the  contribution  baskets. 

With  the  coming  of  his  third  year  he  began  to  deal 
with  social  problems.  His  sermons  bristled  with  facts 
and  figures  in  support  of  the  text.  Remembering  the 
failure  of  sanctifioation  and  his  later  appeal  to  the  in 
dividual,  he  poured  into  his  new  sermons  all  the  accu 
mulated  knowledge  of  his  past  experience,  and  encoun 
tered  a  stronger  opposing  force  than  ever  before.  When 
accused  of  taking  politics  into  his  pulpit,  of  dragging 
business  into  his  sermons,  he  became  indignant  and  pro 
tested  that  if  politics  and  business  did  not  square  with 
religion  it  was  his  plain  duty  to  teach  his  flock  to  avoid 
that  sort  of  politics  and  business.  The  attitude  of  the 
minister  resulted  in  the  appointment  of  a  committee 
from  the  board  of  trustees  to  wait  upon  the  pastor  in 
the  interests  of  the  church  government,  and  insist  upon 
"the  simple  gospel  of  Christ"  (?)  being  preached  from 
their  pulpit. 

The  pastor  requested  this  committee  to  put  its  objec 
tions  in  writing,  also  outline  the  course  it  wished  him 
to  follow  in  the  future.  With  evident  reluctance  the 
committee  agreed  to  meet  the  minister's  wishes.  A  bank 
er,  a  business  man,  and  a  retired  farmer  composed  the 
committee.  The  minister  read  the  indictment  carefully, 
studied  the  recommendations  of  the  committee  to  the 
last  detail,  then  announced  that  he  would  take  their 
offering  as  his  text  for  the  next  Sunday  evening's  ser 
mon,  after  which  the  membership  should  decide  as  to 
the  future. 

That  sermon  will  never  be  forgotten  by  some  who 
heard  it.  Into  it  the  young  minister  poured  a  wealth  of 
pathetic  pleading  for  a  free  pulpit.  He  defended  his 
faith  in  sanctification  as  the  only  true  base  upon  which 
to  build  the  superstructure  of  religious  life.  He  de 
manded  that  he  be  permitted  to  denounce  individual  short 
comings,  social  sins,  political  -and  business  dishonor — 
without  let  or  hindrance.  He  demanded  this  as  his 
right,  and  in  the  name  of  his  Master  protested  against 
the  limitations  sought  to  be  put  upon  the  free  gospel,  as 
he  taught  it. 

As  might  have  been  expected  the  church  divided. 
The  thing  that  most  surprised  the  minister  was  the 


102  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

numerical  insignificance  of  the  party  which  stood  by  him 
in  this  crisis  in  his  ministry.  When  he  had  asked  God's 
blessing  to  rest  upon  his  congregation  after  the  ser 
mon,  and  stood  waiting  beside  the  pulpit,  confident  that 
even  the  committee  had  not  been  able  to  withstand  the 
sublime  truth,  the  eloquence,  the  logic  of  his  appeal  for 
a  free  pulpit,  his  heart  saddened  as  he  noticed  the  draw 
ing  together  of  "the  pillars  of  the  church,"  first  in  twos 
and  threes,  then  in  a  larger  body,  the  center  of  which 
was  the  committee.  As  his  eyes  traveled  over  the  heads 
of  a  congregation  which  seemed  to  have  forgotten  him 
in  its  hurry  to  discuss  the  sermon,  he  saw  coming  down 
a  side  aisle  a  dozen  of  the  poorer  members  of  the  church. 
They  had  hesitated  until  the  "pillars'*  had  been  given 
time  to  have  a  first  word  and  handclasp  with  the  min 
ister,  but  seeing  the  more  prosperous  members  intent 
upon  affairs  other  than  handclasps,  the  bolder  of  the 
rear  pew  holders  proposed  that  those  about  him  who 
believed  as  the  minister  did  should  show  their  confi 
dence  in  him  by  going  forward  and  publicly  expressing 
their  approval.  Following  them  came  a  straggling  dele 
gation  of  the  rag-tag  element — laborers,  workers'  wives,  v 
and  a  few  strangers  who  had  attended  because  they  had 
understood  there  was  to  be  trouble. 

The  minister  watched  them  as  they  approached,  and 
his  heart  filled — were  the  many  doubts  that  had  assail 
ed  him  as  his  church  closed  one  after  another  the  great 
gates  of  truth  against  him  to  be  affirmed?  Had  the 
world  come  again  so  close  to  the  days  of  Calvary  that 
only  the  poor  would  hear  Christ's  message  gladly? 

There  could  be  no  mistaking  the  warmth  of  approval 
voiced  by  those  who  came  to  congratulate  him  upon  his 
splendid  defense  of  the  gospel  of  righteousness.  But 
he  saw  a  sneer  on  the  lips  of  the  banker  as  he,  too,  noted 
the  character  of  those  who  grasped  the  minister's  hand. 
Reluctantly,  a  few  of  the  more  indifferent  of  the  con 
gregation  left  the  church.  A  handful  of  those  who  did 
not  dare  to  be  among  the  first  to  go  to  the  minister,  finally 
went  up  to  offer  advice,  criticism  and  caution,  but  the 
"pillars"  stood  firm. 

After  a  whispered  conference  between  members  of 
the  board,  the  banker  passed  the  minister  without  a  word 


'A  handful     *     *     *     finally  went  up  to  offer  advice,  criticism  and  caution, 
but  the  'PILLARS'  stood  firm." — Page  102. 


AN    UNFINISHED   CHAPTER  IC>3 

and  from  the  pulpit  called  for  order.  The  pastor  and 
all  within  the  church  sat  down. 

"Brothers  and  sisters,"  the  banker  began,  "some  time 
ago  the  trustees  by  vote  selected  a  committee  to  meet 
with  our  pastor  and  lay  certain  matters  before  him. 
He  asked  that  we  present  these  matters  in  writing,  and 
also  map  out  the  course  we  desired  him  to  pursue  in 
the  discharge  of  his  duties  as  pastor  of  this  church.  I 
do  not  like  to  be  personal,  least  of  all  in  church  mat 
ters  (Deacon  Cannon  voiced  a  loud  'amen'),  but  I  must 
say  I  believe  the  pastor  has  shamefully  abused  his  privi 
lege  in  the  pulpit  of  this  church — and  I  voice  the  senti 
ments  of  the  trustees,"  he  hastened  to  add.  "He  has 
abused  the  privileges  of  this  pulpit  in  refusing  to  make 
answer  to  our  committee  after  it  had  complied  with  his 
request;  in  taking  our  charges  and  recommendations  as 
a  text  for  what  he  has  been  pleased  to  call  a  sermon; 
in  openly  attacking  the  committee;  in  attempting  to 
make  it  appear  that  the  board  of  trustees  has  been  ani 
mated  by  other  than  the  highest  Christian  motives  in 
its  effort  to  keep  this  pulpit  free  from  sensationalism, 
and  unwarranted  attacks  upon  some  of  our  most  re 
spected  citizens.  Feeling  that  we  are  justified  in  making 
these  charges,  and  that  the  cause  of  true  Christianity 
demands  that  the  officers  immediately  take  steps  to  pre 
vent  strife  and  division  in  the  church,  the  trustees  have 
asked  that  I  announce  a  meeting  of  the  membership  for 
next  Tuesday  evening,  at  which  meeting  the  trustees 
will  present  certain  recommendations  relative  to  the  mat 
ter  I  have  been  discussing "  The  banker  hesitat 
ing,  at  a  loss  how  to  close,  turned,  his  eyes  lit  upon  Dea 
con  Cannon,  a  hard-fisted  old  money  grubber  who  had 
been  at  war  with  the  minister  from  the  first  because  he 
failed  to  get  enough  hell-fire  for  sinners  into  his  min 
istry. 

"Will  Deacon  Cannon  lead  us  in  prayer?"  the  banker 
asked,  and  slid  to  his  knees  behind  the  pulpit. 

Deacon  Cannon  sat  blinking  his  little  eyes  toward 
the  pulpit  long  after  the  members  had  assumed  the  pre 
scribed  attitude  of  prayer.  So  lost  was  this  good  man 
in  contemplation  of  a  final  victory  over  the  minister  that 
a  second  call  from  the  pulpit  was  necessary  to  put  him 
in  touch  with  the  thing  required  of  him. 


IO4  MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

Deacon  Cannon's  enemies  contended  that  he  poured 
all  his  religion  out  in  prayers  on  a  Sunday  and  filled  up 
the  hollow  with  mortgages  and  shaved  notes  on  week 
days.  However  that  may  be,  the  prayer  he  sent  up 
that  night  broke  all  records  he  had  established  before. 

"Good  Lord,"  he  prayed,  "Lord  of  all,  Great  Father 
in  Heaven,  give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread,  and  for 
give  this  young  man.  O  Lord,  he  has  come  near  to 
a-calling  me  a  whitened  seplicker,  but  I  forgive  him. 
And  O  Lord,  I  implore  thee  to  do  the  same.  O  Lord, 
I  feel  that  I  am  a  weak  sinner  wandering  in  a  vale  of 
tears,  and  thou  knowest,  O  Lord,  how  often  my  path 
way  is  beset  by  temptations.  O  Lord,  thou  knowest 
that  if  man  had  not  bin  born  to  sin,  Christ  thy  son 
would  not  have  suffered  and  died,  and  we  would  Juv 
all  bin  lost  in  the  lake  of  fire.  O  Lord,  we  thank  thee 
that  the  way  is  hard,  and  invite  thy  divine  compassion 
to  fall  upon  the  head  of  this  erring  young  minister,  like 
manner  out  of  the  skies.  May  his  heart  be  touched 
with  divine  grace.  May  he  see  the  errer  of  his  ways, 
and  may  we,  O  Lord,  Brother  Baxter,  Brother  Mann 
and  your  humble  servant,  be  endowed  with  power  from 
on  high,  as  we  try  to  lead  him  to  see  the  errer  of  his 
ways.  And  if  he  won't  see  it,  O  Lord,  may  we  be  armed 
with  the  strength  of  angels,  and  be  en — en — enabled,  O 
Lord,  to  scourge  him  forth  from  thy  holy  temple.  May 
we  be  filled  with  thy  spirit,  O  Lord!  And  do,  Dear 
Jesus,  come  down  in  power  and  lead  aright  them  who 
has  given  comfort  to  this  young  man  to-night.  May 
they  be  brought  to  see  how  he  has  gone  against  the 
authority  of  the  officers  of  this,  thy  church.  O  Lord 
Jesus,  give  them  as  aid  and  abet  him  a  newness  of 
heart  that  shall  bring  them  to  see  the  errer  of  their 
ways.  An'  now,  Lord,  bless  us  as  we  go  to  our  several 
homes.  We  ask  it  all  for  Jesus'  sake,  amen." 

"Amen,  and  again  amen."  It  was  the  minister's 
voice,  heard  to  the  farthest  corners  of  the  church,  and 
Deacon  Cannon  blinked  again. 

At  the  Tuesday  meeting  it  was  proven  that  the  Lord 
was  with  the  trustees.  The  minister  refusing  to  yield, 
the  officers  of  the  church  declared  the  pulpit  vacant.  On 
vote  of  the  church,  Deacons  Cannon  and  Baxter  were 
selected  as  a  safe  committee  to  go  into  distant  places 


AN   UNFINISHED   CHAPTER  IO5 

in  search  of  a  "safe"  minister.  News  of  Rev.  Mr. 
Smiley's  sermons  on  "Our  Social  Sins,"  had  reached  a 
certain  church  in  a  certain  city,  at  that  time  under 
going  periodic  regeneration.  An  opportune  call  came 
for  him  to  assist  in  a  great  union  meeting  of  the 
churches,  that  for  the  hundredth  time  had  determined 
finally  to  drive  the  devil  and  all  his  works  from  the 
community.  He  so  pleased  his  audiences  with  his  at 
tacks  on  Gambling,  Prostitution,  and  the  Saloon  that  he 
was  called  to  fill  the  pulpit  of  the  First  Baptist  Church. 
When  he  had  accepted  and  for  the  first  time  stood  be 
hind  the  pulpit  in  a  magnificent  church  as  its  regular 
pastor,  he  wondered  if  after  all  Deacons  Cannon  and 
Mann  and  Baxter  were  not  agents  in  the  hands  of  God 
to  help  him  on  his  way  by  giving  him  the  spur  of  their 
opposition.  As  he  looked  out  over  a  congregation  that 
filled  the  church,  as  a  compliment  to  the  "new"  minister, 
he  felt  that  there  was  still  hope  that  he  might  preach 
the  full  message  he  believed  Christ  had  delivered  to  the 
world. 

Before  accepting  the  call  to  this  church  he  had  felt 
that  there  was  a  work  well  worth  while  before  him. 
The  city,  tiring  of  the  rottenness  of  its  political  ma 
chinery,  in  an  all-too-evident  partnership  with  vice  and 
crime,  had  decided  to  clean  house.  On  this  wave  of  pro 
posed  civic  righteousness  he  had  entered  upon  his  min 
istry,  and  gave  valuable  assistance  to  the  politicians 
who  had  fallen  out  with  the  machine  and  were  now 
struggling  for  a  clean  city  under  a  business  administra 
tion.  His  pulpit,  from  that  first  morning  when  we  left 
him  looking  out  over  a  splendid  audience,  rang  with 
condemnation  of  all  social  sins.  The  reformed  politi 
cians,  out  of  office  and  hungry  to  get  in,  exploited  every 
attack  against  crime,  graft,  vice  and  the  incompetency 
of  public  officials,  whether  it  came  from  the  new  preach 
er's  pulpit  or  some  other  voicing  protest  against  wrong 
doing,  as  a  direct  charge  against  the  then  office-holders. 
A  moral  spasm  epidemic  in  the  city,  coupled  with  adroit 
campaigning,  won  a  majority  of  the  votes  and  gave  the 
city  a  clean  administration,  pledged  to  put  all  gamblers, 
porchclimbers,  holdup  men  and  prostitutes  out  of  busi 
ness  in  short  order.  All  this  happened  within  three 
months  after  the  new  minister  began  his  labors.  For 


IO6  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

three  more  long,  strenuously-used  months  he  kept  at  the 
heels  of  the  newly-elected  officials,  demanding  that  they 
redeem  their  pledges,  and  all  the  while  kept  hammering 
social  sins  from  his  pulpit.  Within  another  three 
months  he  was  given  to  understand  that  the  men  who 
had  been  elected  to  carry  out  the  will  of  God  in  a  city's 
government  were  simply  a  new  line-up  of  old  machine 
hands,  and  were  in  no  immediate  hurry  to  crush  any 
one  of  three  very  profitable  vice  trusts.  In  fact,  after 
the  excitement  had  died  down,  and  trie  new  machine 
had  gotten  well  under  way  in  the  city  hall,  several  of 
his  substantial  members  had  cautioned  him  against  car 
rying  his  crusade  to  extremes.  So  long  as  he  merely 
tickled  the  ears  of  his  congregation  with  a  general  con 
demnation  of  vice,  as  he  had  done  prior  to  the  election, 
all  went  well;  but  since  that  time  he  had  been  asking 
more  than  a  liberal  contribution  to  the  fund  for  the  up 
lift  of  fallen  women,  general  charities,  etc.,  etc.  When 
he  had  discovered  that  neither  the  city  government  nor 
the  individual  Christians  who  had  been  so  much  in  evi 
dence  before  election  proposed  to  do  anything  person 
ally  to  blot  out  the  crimes  complained  of,  he,  with  two 
young  men  who  believed  as  he  did,  that  to  destroy  crime 
one  must  go  to  its  source,  instead  of  taking  the  more 
popular  way  of  treating  the  symptoms  while  trying  to 
"resolve"  the  criminal  into  the  mood  to  destroy  the  thing 
that  fed  him,  disguised  themselves,  sought  the  under 
world,  and  in  one  short  month  uncovered  so  much  filth, 
reaching  from  the  city  hall  to  the  lowest  dens  of  vice, 
that  they  were  simply  staggered  at  the  complexity  of 
the  system  and  the  boldness  of  its  operators. 

In  his  study  the  new  minister  went  carefully  over  the 
ground  with  the  young  men  who  had  been  with  him  in 
his  wanderings.  He  told  them  of  his  past  experiences 
when  attempting  to  bring  individual  sins  home  to  church 
members.  He  pointed  out  the  many  difficulties  that  lay 
before  them  should  they  decide  to  use  the  evidence 
they  had  gathered  in  an  open  fight  on  the  foundations 
of  vice.  They  were  young,  had  just  came  out  of  their 
first  political  struggle,  were  joying  in  the  thought  that 
they  had  busted  a  machine,  and  were  hungry  for  more 
of  the  battle.  So  the  minister  took  courage  from  their 
enthusiasm,  when  they  insisted  that  he  would  carry  the 


AN    UNFINISHED   CHAPTER  IO7 

church  by  storm  and  compel  others  to  take  up  the  fight. 

They  had  discovered  that  three  of  the  members  of 
their  church  owned  property  in  the  "red-light  district" 
and  received  more  rent  from  this  property  than  prop 
erty  of  a  like  value  would  bring  them  in  the  respect 
able  parts  of  the  city.  The  minister  took  these  facts 
direct  to  the  members  involved  and  told  them  plainly 
that  he  was  preparing  to  enter  upon  a  campaign  against 
those  who  upheld  the  vice  of  their  city  and  advised 
them  to  get  rid  of  their  tenants.  One  good  brother  lied 
to  him.  A  second  dodged  the  issue  the  first  time  it 
was  presented,  made  another  date  with  the  crusader  and 
failed  to  keep  it.  The  third  man  solemnly  affirmed  that 
he  had  never  suspected  the  nature  of  his  tenants — all 
that  was  in  the  hands  of  his  agents,  he  insisted;  then 
hesitated  a  long  time  when  the  minister  asked  him  for 
the  name  of  his  agent.  For  a  week  the  pastor  and  his 
young  lieutenants  worked  like  beavers  to  get  at  the  bot 
tom  of  the  cases  that  affected  the  several  church  mem 
bers.  The  agent  of  the  last  brother  interviewed  laughed 
in  the  preacher's  face  when  the  latter  chided  him  for 
accepting  such  lease-holders  to  the  everlasting  shame  of 
a  Christian  landlord. 

"Did  Mr.  Hooker  tell  you  he  didn't  know  what  sort 
of  cattle  he  rented  that  property  to?"  the  agent  de 
manded. 

"Certainly — what  else  could  he  say?"  the  preacher 
asked  in  a  puzzled  voice. 

"He  could  have  told  the  truth,  if  he  hasn't  forgotten 
how/'  the  other  retorted. 

"My  dear  sir,  you  don't  mean  to " 

"I  mean  to  say  that  Hooker  insisted  upon  leasing 
that  property  to  those  people  against  my  strong  pro 
test." 

"But  why  should  lie?" 

"Why  should  he?  Say,  Mr.  Smiley,  you  are  too 
good  to  live  in  this  sinful  world.  Why  don't  you  ask 
me  how  old  is  Ann,  or  something  hard?" 

"But  I  am  in  earnest,"  the  minister  insisted,  "and  I 
asked  you  that  question  in  all  seriousness." 

The  real  estate  man  lost  his  smile  right  there,  and 
cudgeled  his  mind  for  an  answer  that  would  satisfy  a 
preacher  in  earnest,  and  still  not  harm  a  good  patron. 


IO8  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

However,  he  did  not  find  the  answer,  and  as  the  minister 
pressed  him,  reasserting  that  Mr.  Hooker  had  declared 
that  he,  the  agent,  was  entirely  at  fault,  the  answer 
came. 

"You  tell  Old  Hooker  he's  a  liar.  I  wanted  to  fire 
that  scum  the  first  of  the  year,  but  he  wouldn't  stand 
for  it.  They  pay  more  for  the  place  than  any  one  else 
could  afford  to  pay,  and  Hooker  will  never  see  enough 
pennies  until  the  devil  sets  him  counting  them,  so  he  in 
sists  that  I  rent  the  property  to  the  old  tenants,  but  says 
I've  got  to  put  up  the  rents.  He  knows  they  will  pay 
rather  than  get  out  and  hunt  another  landlord.  When 
he  says  I  rent  any  property  to  such  cattle  without  orders 
from  the  owner  he  lies.  I  may  not  pass  a  plate  in 
church,  as  he  does,  but,  by  God,  I'm  decent." 

The  minister  went  straight  to  Brother  Hooker's  of 
fice  and  laid  the  agent's  reply  before  him.  Hooker 
flushed  up,  stammered,  coughed,  squinted  his  little  black 
eyes  at  the  young  fool  and  made  up  his  mind  to  have  it 
over  with  as  soon  as  possible. 

"Ahem,  Mr.  Smiley,  ahem, — what  do  we  pay  you  to 
do,  may  I  ask?" 

"Preach  the  gospel  of  Jesus,"  came  the  answer. 

"Yes,  yes,  that's  it,  preach  the  gospel,"  he  rubbed 
his  hands  slowly.  "Does  that  include  the  running  of 
your  members'  private  business?"  he  asked  sweetly. 

"No,  it  does  not,  and  I  have  never  undertaken  any 
such  task." 

"Exactly;  then  pray  tell  me  under  what  head  your 
visit  to  my  agent  comes,  if  it  does  not  come  under  the 
head  of  interfering  in  my  private  business?"  Mr.  Hook 
er's  voice  had  grown  some  between  the  beginning  and 
end  of  his  question. 

"It  comes  under  the  head  of  a  church  trial,  unless 
you  give  me  your  word  of  honor  that  you  will  put  those 
people  out  at  once."  Smiley  was  angry  at  Hooker  for 
having  lied  to  him  in  the  beginning,  and  now  that  he 
was  fairly  trapped  wanting  to  play  the  same  old  Baxter 
dodge  on  him. 

"Church  trial !"  Hooker  exploded.  "Why,  you  young, 
young  thingemaderry.  I  built  that  church.  Church 
trial !  If  you  talk  that  sort  of  rot  for  a  week  we'll  have 
to  take  you  by  the  heels " 


AN    UNFINISHED   CHAPTER  ICX) 

"I  said  church  trial,  and  I  meant  it." 

"And  I  say,  not  in  my  church!  Young  man,  you're 
crazy!  Too  much  prominence  has  turned  your  head, 
and  my  advice  to  you  is  to  drop  this  business  you've 
been  monkeying  with  and  stick  straight  to  the  gospel,  if 
you  don't " 

"If  I  don't?"    Smiley  was  white  and  biting  his  lips. 

"If  you  don't,  you  can  hunt  another  church.  And 
God  pity  them,"  he  added  as  an  afterthought. 

"I  want  just  one  more  word,  Brother  Hooker,  just 
one;  if  I  have  word  from  your  agent  that  he  has  or 
ders  to  put  those  people  out  before  next  Sabbath,  I  will 
drop  your  case.  If  that  word  does  not  come,  I  shall 
lay  the  whole  sickening,  disgusting  story  before  the 
membership  and  they  will  decide  between  us.  Good 
morning." 

For  a  week  the  minister  labored  over  his  sermon  on 
the  foundations  of  vice,  then  submitted  it  to  the  two 
staunch  friends.  They  approved  it,  and  he  delivered  it 
to  a  packed  church. 

When  the  storm  broke  the  pastor  stood  to  his  guns 
and  demanded  that  the  members  found  to  be  profiting 
from  rentals  received  from  dens  of  iniquity  either  dis 
pose  of  the  property  or  leave  the  church.  Once  more 
he  stood  in  the  presence  of  a  divided  church,  and  in 
this  crisis  had  less  of  a  following  than  before,  and  that 
in  a  far  larger-  congregation. 

A  committee  chosen  from  the  body  of  members  met 
to  frame  up  a  set  of  resolutions  for  the  guidance  of  the 
pastor,  and  reported  that  as  each  man  had  to  be  saved 
individually  it  was  out  of  the  province  of  the  church 
to  undertake  the  regulation  of  the  individual's  business 
affairs;  they  also  resolved  that  it  was  beneath  the  dig 
nity  of  their  pastor  to  go  about  among  the  places  he 
had  admitted  visiting;  thus  balancing  one  shortcoming 
against  another,  they  further  resolved  to  drop  all  pro 
ceedings  against  erring  members  and  an  equally  erring 
pastor,  provided  the  members  accused  would  be  care 
ful  in  renting  their  properties  in  future,  and  he  would 
agree  not  to  disturb  the  situation  by  probing  it  deeper 
than  a  platitudinous  sermon  would  reach.  They  in 
sisted  that  they  had  elected  officials  to  look  after  the 
morals  of  the  city.  They,  the  citizens,  paid  the  officials 


110  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

to  do  their  duty.  If  they  refused,  the  highest,  in  fact, 
the  only  consistent  duty  of  the  church  was  to  resolve 
and  pray.  Finally,  their  report  insisted  that  the  church 
had  hired  Rev.  Theo.  Smiley  to  preach;  it  being  the 
sense  of  the  committee  that  he  should  confine  his  la 
bors  to  that,  and  to  the  distribution  of  the  no  inconsid 
erable  charity  of  the  church. 

The  minister  asked  to  be  allowed  to  preach  just  one 
more  sermon  in  their  splendid  church,  when  he  had 
heard  the  report  read;  just  one,  he  pleaded,  then  they 
might  seek  another  pastor.  A  wordy,  war  followed  this 
appeal,  and  finally  victory  came  to  the  few  followers  of 
the  pastor  because  they  were  insistent  that  he  be  heard 
as  against  the  report  of  the  committee. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  CHAPTER  FINISHED. 

The  last  sermon  the  Rev.  Mr.  Smiley  preached  be 
fore  the  congregation  in  M ,  endeared  him  to  the 

few  loyal  souls  who  wanted  more  than  platitudinous  dis 
sertations  delivered  in  lieu  of  straight-from-the-shoulder 
condemnation  of  unrighteousness.  And  it  goes  without 
saying  that  Elder  Hooker's  followers  were  also  well  sat 
isfied  with  the  sermon ;  it  aided  them  materially  in  shap 
ing  up  their  defense  against  sensationalism  in  the  pulpit. 

The  good  people  of  the  church  in  D were,  to  quote 

an  evangelist,  "preparing  to  fight  the  devil  with  fire." 
And  as  they  expected  to  corner  his  satanic  majesty  in 
the  saloon,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Smiley  was  called  to  fill  the 
pulpit  of  another  First  Baptist  church  and  assist  in 
feeding  the  fires  in  their  crusade. 

Martha  Holcomb  had  been  a  very  dissatisfied  mem 
ber  since  moving  to  the  city. 

"Now,  that  I've  got  you.  Elder,"  Martha  began,  as 
the  doctor's  wife  and  the  minister  were  seated  on  the 
front  porch,  "I  want  to  know  what  you  think  of  the  ac 
tions  of  them  young  men  last  Sunday  evening?"  The 
doctor's  wife  smiled  at  a  porch  post  and  the  minister 
looked  his  embarrassment. 

"Really,  Sister  Holcomb,  I  did  not  attach  much  im 
portance  to  their  behavior.  I  certainly " 

"You  didn't,  and  you  a  ordained  minister!  Well,  I 
don't  much  wonder.  It  seems  I  sensed  it,  an'  that's  why 
I  came  over  here  when  I  saw  you  had  stopped.  Now, 
I'd  like  to  know  if  you  set  much  importance  on  th'  way 
your  church  has  ignored  my  labors  since  I  jined?"  Mar 
tha  squared  herself  for  the  conflict,  well  satisfied  that 
the  minister's  defense  would  be  equally  weak  in  this 
case. 

"Well,  Sister  Holcomb,  I  would  like  to  know  two 

111 


112  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

things  before  I  answer:  what  you  complain  of;  then, 
what  you  expect." 

"I  complain  of  bein'  set  down  on,  right  from  the 
start."  Her  voice  grew  harsh,  as  she  remembered  the 
many  slights  a  would-be  fashionable  congregation  had 
put  upon  her.  "I  want  you  to  know  that  I  allus,  from 
the  day  I  jined  father's  church,  was  one  of  the  leadin' 
members,  an'  when  I  come  to  your  church  I  expected 
to  take  up  my  work  in  the  vineyard  just  where  I  left 
off  in  t'other  church ;  but  the  only  thing  I  git  is  giggles 
and  titters  from  the  young  things,  and  a  cool  'How  de 
do'  from  the  rest.  Talk  about  Christian  spirit,  why, 
when  I  jist  offered  to  shake  hands  with  Judge  Jackson's 
wife  an*  asked  her  how  all  her  folks  was,  she  jist  glared 
at  me  an'  never  offered  me  her  hand.  An'  two  or  three 
of  them  young  woman's  Christian  business  things  as 
was  a-standin'  around  jist  giggled  out  loud.  An'  what 
sort  of  a  thing  is  that  young  woman's  business  anyway, 
a-sendin'  a  lot  of  young  girls  an'  old  maids  in  a-swim- 
min',  an'  a-fightin'  with  swords  an'  a-playfn'  all  sorts  of 
card  games  an'  no  mothers  to  look  arter  them?  I  call 
it  scandalous." 

"But,  my  dear  sister,  the  Y.  W.  C.  A.  has  a  most  dis 
creet  and  efficient  manager  in  Mrs.  Jefferson." 

"Mrs.  Jefferson  is  discreet,  is  she?  Well,  all  I've 
got  to  say  is,  that,  from  what  I  hev  seen  of  her,  she's 
one  of  the  friskiest  widders  I  ever  see,  an'  it's  scandal 
ous  the  way  she  behaves  when  that  secretary  of  the 
young  men's  business  is  around."  The  minister  laughed. 
"I  allowed  you'd  laugh,  but  you  can't  make  me  believe 
any  good  comes  of  puttin'  a  passel  of  girls  into  rooms 
like  them  with  a  frisky  widder  woman,  who  ain't  look- 
in'  arter  herself  properly,  to  look  arter  them.  An'  when 
it  comes  to  the  young  fellers  a-boxin'  each  other's  heads 
off,  an'  a-playin'  billiards  an'  pool,  an*  football,  an'  base 
ball,  an'  doin'  sich  things  as  that,  an'  callin'  it  religion, 
why,  it  jist  shows  me  how  little  real  religion  they  is  now 
adays." 

"You  don't  mean  to  imply  that  you  are  opposed  to 
the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  and  the  Y.  W.  C.  A.  ?" 

"Yes,  I  do.  Them  boys  is  a-learnin'  to  play  games, 
an'  when  they  git  out  in  the  world  they're  a-goin'  t'  th' 
saloons  and  sich  places  to  find  them ;  an'  you  know  that 


THE   CHAPTER  FINISHED  113 

a  lot  of  young  fellers  that  goes  into  the  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
hain't  got  no  call  to  be  called  anything  but  young  heath 
ens,  an*  when  it  comes  to  lookin'  close,  the  other  end  of 
this  business  ain't  much  better.  Ain't  there  been  a  rob 
bery  an*  two  other  suspicious  cases  in  th'  buildin'  this 
year?" 

"Yes,  but  that's  no  more  a  charge  against  the  Asso 
ciation  than  the  backsliding  of  a  member  is  chargeable 
against  the  church,"  Mr.  Smiley  replied  gently. 

"No,  I  reckon  not,  when  the  minister  preaches  noth- 
in'  but  milk  an'  honey  an'  a  forgivin'  God.  You  ain't 
preached  but  two  good  sermons  since  I  bin  in  the  church, 
an'  they  won't  let  you  preach  another  in  a  hurry.  My 
father  preached  an'  preached  the  gospel,  an'  I  ain't 
heard  it  preached  but  once  since  he  died.  An'  I  want 
to  say,  that  we  had  a  real  live  church.  They  wasn't 
none  of  your  flimadiddle  clubs  an*  classes,  an'  associa 
tions,  an'  they  wasn't  no  suicides  an'  robbin',  an'  when 
a  member  backslid  he  backslid  plum  into  the  lake  of 
brimstone,  an'  he  didn't  have  no  bouquets  to  take  along, 
either.  When  I  ask  about  anything  in  your  church,  any 
work  that  ought  to  be  done,  I'm  jist  informed  in  so 
many  words  that  it's  in  the  hands  of  this  committee  or 
that  one,  and  they're  sure  to  do  it  better'n  I  could.  An' 
so,  along  with  havin'  preached  hell  out  of  the  church, 
an'  goin'  into  partnership  with  the  Idolaters  an'  a  hob- 
nobbin'  with  Catholics,  Unitarians  an'  Universalites  an' 
sich  trash,  an'  a-goin'  in  fer  all  sorts  of  clubs  an'  things 
an'  a-takin'  the  work  of  the  church  out  of  the  hands  of 
the  members,  it  jist  seems  to  me  that  they  ain't  no  sanc- 
tification  no  more.  Why,  jist  last  Sunday  I  see  three 
women  I  hadn't  noticed  afore,  a-takin'  the  Lord's  Sup 
per,  an'  after  meetin'  I  went  to  them  an'  tried  to  git 
acquainted  as  a  Christian  ought  to  when  strangers  come 
to  the  house  of  the  Lord;  an*  what  do  you  s'pose  I 
heard  that  beautiful  guardian  of  young  girls,  your  dear 
Mrs.  Jefferson,  a-whisperin'  to  the  fust  one,  as  soon  as 
I'd  turned  my  back?  Well,  she  giggled  an'  said:  'Oh, 
that's  Mrs.  Holcomb.  She's  our  cross  from  the  coun 
try.'  Then  both  of  'em  giggled,  an'  the  secretary  of 
the  young  men's  business,  he  up  an'  ast  them,  'Did  they 
hear  me  in  the  Bible  class?'  an'  they  all  laughed.  Now, 
I  tried  to  do  my  Christian  duty  by  them  women,  who  I 


114  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

reckon  are  some  more  guardians  over  young  girls,  an* 
they  all  jist  stared  at  me;  an'  their  hands,  when  I  did 
git  hold  of  them,  was  like  dead  fish,  an'  their  eyes  didn't 
have  a  spark  of  soul  in  'em.  An'  talkin'  about  that 
Bible  class — I  got  so  tired  of  them  a-dodgin'  th'  plain 
written  words  about  hell  an'  eternal  punishment  an' 
a-makin'  light  of  all  the  things  Christ  taught  about 
Christian  duty  an'  the  crosses  one  has  to  bear  in  this 
here  world  that  I  got  plumb  disgusted  with  the  whole 
passel.  They  hain't  nothin'  but  jist  a  nice  little  debatin' 
society,  an'  almighty  careful  what  they  debate  about,  at 
that.  So  I  jist  made  up  my  mind,  when  I  found  hell 
mentioned  right  out  in  the  lesson  fer  last  Sunday,  that 
they  wouldn't  git  a  chance  to  dodge  it  that  time,  an' 
they  didn't.  An'  then  to  have  that  class  of  young  fellers 
laugh  out  loud,  when  I  told  Old  Lockhard  the  Lord 
would  singe  his  old  goat  whiskers  for  him,  'cause  he 
said  'they  wasn't  any  call  to  talk  about  a  hell  here 
after,  when  they  could  git  a  smell  of  it  every  Sunday 
right  in  church/  or  I'd  miss  my  guess.  I  jist  said  then 
the  first  time  I  set  eyes  on  Elder  Smiley  I'm  goin'  to 
ask  him  to  preach  from  the  text,  'An'  tli'  wicked  shall 
be  consumed  in  a  lake  of  burnin'  fire ;'  and  I  want  you 
to,  will  you  do  it?" 

Martha  leaned  forward  and  eyed  her  pastor,  her  face 
expressing  a  doubt  as  to  his  willingness  to  commit  him 
self,  in  face  of  what  she  considered  the  infidelity  of 
his  members. 

"Do  you  insist  upon  this  wording  of  my  text?"  he 
inquired. 

"Them  are  the  words  as  I  hev  carried  them  in  my 
heart  all  the  years  I  bin  in  the  church.  An'  if  I  didn't 
believe  them,  I  could  be  jist  as  milk  and  watery,  jist  as 
unconcerned  as  the  rest  of  your  members.  Believin' 
them  words,  I  hev  gone  aginst  my  own  flesh  an'  blood, 
an*,  suffered,  an'  suffered,  an'  sanctified  my  life.  An'  I 
won't  be  set  down  on  by  no  infidels  in  a  church,  when  I 
spurn  the  infidels  in  my  own  home.  Are  you  a-goin'  to 
preach  that  sermon?" 

The  minister  looked  at  her  hard-lined  face,  scarred 
deep  in  the  battle  of  years. 

"Yes,  sister,"  he  answered,  "I  will.     I  may  not  be 


THE  CHAPTER  FINISHED  1 15 

able  to  meet  your  approval,  but  I  shall  preach  from  your 
text." 

"Land  alive !"  Martha  arose,  shading  her  eyes  with 
her  hand.  "There's  Jed  Holcomb  back,  as  sure  as  I 
live.  Well,  I  must  be  a-going  home;  I'm  much  obliged 
to  you,  Elder,  an'  I  shall  pray  that  you  git  help  to  make 
that  sermon  fit  your  congregation." 

When  Martha  had  gone  the  two  sat  in  silence  for 
a  time. 

"She  is  impossible,"  the  woman  remarked. 

"Like  many  of  us,"  the  minister  answered.  Then  he 
told  the  doctor's  wife  of  his  early  struggles  in  the  min 
istry.  This  woman  had  been  a  second  mother  to  him, 
and  to-day,  with  the  complaints  of  a  congregation  in 
mind,  it  seemed  good  to  unburden  his  heart  to  her. 

"I  feel  like  preaching  hell-fire,  and  I  wish  I  believed 
it  as  literally  as  does  Mrs.  Holcomb." 

They  looked  across  at  the  home  where  Jed  and  Mary 
had  just  met  upon  the  walk  in  front  of  the  house. 

"Oh,  no,  you  don't,"  the  woman  insisted.  "All  the 
troubles  of  the  church,  and  Sister  Holcomb's  troubles 
on  top  of  them,  have  upset  you.  You'll  be  all  right  in 
a  week." 

"I  don't  know,"  he  declared.  "It  seems  as  though 
everything  is  slipping  away  from  me;  even  my  sancti- 
fication." 

"Never  mind  that,"  the  woman  laughed;  "just  keep 
the  milk  and  honey;  Sister  Holcomb  has  enough  sancti- 
fication  to  supply  #ie  city." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  WHITE  SLAVE  TRADER. 

Pagan's  place  is  not  pretentious,  consisting  as  it  does 
of  three  "flats"  and  one  of  those  grim-faced  grogshops 
that  grow,  fungus-like,  in  portions  of  our  cities  given 
over  to  the  poverty-cursed  of  many  lands,  the  old-clothes 
man,  second-hand  shoe  stores,  rag  shops,  and  brothels. 

Fagan  is  entitled  to  another  name,  but  at  this  mo 
ment  it  matters  not;  the  name  she  bears  fits  as  well  to 
her  calling  as  did  that  of  the  old  London  Jew  to  his. 
However,  we  know  how  she  came  to-  be  christened 
"Fagan"  amongst  the  thugs,  short-time  men,  card  sharps, 
pimps  and  pikers  of  her  world.  Before  she  discovered 
the  all-power  that  rested  in  "seeing"  the  elected  guard 
ians  of  public  morals  when  in  trouble,  she  had  been  ar 
rested  so  often  upon  the  charge  of  running  a  "fence"  for 
child  thieves  (and  older  ones  probably  brought  her  a 
goodly  share  of  their  loot)  that  she  came  rightly  by  her 
title.  And  it  stuck,  even  after  she  took  up  the  more  aris 
tocratic  business  of  furnishing  girls  to  discriminating 
customers :  also  to  the  other  slave  pens  in  the  pool. 

One  of  her  shining  satellites,  "Slick"  Snively,  is 
never  seen  at  Fagan's,  yet  he  is  in  her  employ  occasion 
ally,  and  is  one  of  the  best  decoys  in  the  business.  He 
is  young,  good  looking,  and  as  yet  able  physically  to 
ward  off  those  telltale  marks  of  dissipation  which  will 
begin  to  show  upon  him  in  a  year  or  two;  then  good- 
by  to  the  job  that  brings  him  an  easy  living  to-day. 
From  there  to  the  end  of  life's  chapter  his  lot  will  be 
cast  with  the  semi-criminal  class  which  feeds  upon  both 
criminal  and  respectable  alike.  At  this  time  Snively 
has  no  thought  of  the  end.  In  the  full  glory  of  his 
power  and  patronage  he  sees  a  golden  future  stretching 
away  before  him.  A  future  filled  with  women  and 
horses,  and  he  playing  both  for  the  limit. 

It  is  only  necessary  that  the  quarry  be  pointed  out  to 
116 


A   WHITE   SLAVE   TRADER  117 

"Slick"  and  the  reward  offered  for  her  capture  sufficient 
to  arouse  his  cupidity,  for  him  to  labor  incessantly  to 
accomplish  his  ends.  What  sort  of  labor  is  this?  Well, 
for  the  open  market  "Slick"  inserts  a  "want  ad"  in  one 
or  more  of  our  daily  newspapers  that  reads  like  this : 

"Wanted — At  once,  young  women  of  good  appear 
ance — under  twenty  preferred — light  work,  steady  em 
ployment  and  refined  surroundings.  Pay  liberal,  and 
sure  promotion.  Z  42." 

To  all  who  answer,  a  letter  is  sent  upon  stationery 
purporting  to  have  come  from  a  suit,  cloak  and  furnish 
ing  house,  in  need  of  models,  fitters,  salesladies,  etc., 
etc.  The  writer  requests  the  applicant  to  send  a  photo, 
state  age,  height,  weight,  etc.  If  all  questions  are  an 
swered  to  the  satisfaction  of  "Slick,"  he  writes  these 
daughters  of  labor  to  meet  him  at  a  given  address,  or 
that  they  will  be  met  by  a  lady  agent  of  the  concern,  if 
they  live  in  the  city.  If  they  have  been  lured  from  small 
country  towns  or  farm  homes,  once  in  "Slick's"  clutches 
their  fate  is  sealed.  Both  Fagan  and  her  agent  like  the 
country-grown  article  of  merchandise  better  than  the 
feity  product,  and  are  always  on  the  lookout  for  what 
"Slick"  jocularly  dubs  "Fresh  Country  Butter." 

A  plump  little  roll  of  "Fresh  Country  Butter"  once 
safely  landed  in  the  city  would  be  taken  either  direct 
from  the  depot,  or  from  one  of  Fagan's  arranged  places 
of  rendezvous,  with  her  luggage,  a  loving  mother's  last 
kiss,  a  father's  "God  bless  you,  little  girl,"  or  a  brother's 
"Good  luck,  and  lots  of  it,  little  sister,"  still  lingering 
with  her  mid  the  confusing  bustle  of  the  city's  surging 
life,  to  a  place  Fagan  has  selected  for  her  latest  "white 
slave."  A  place  where  all  her  pleas  for  mercy  are 
thrown  back  into  her  crimsoned  face  by  rough  brutes 
clothed  as  men,  and  women  who  have  had  all  of  wom 
anhood  burned  out  of  them  in  a  worse  than  hell's  fire. 
A  place  where  she  must  yield  her  virtue  within  a  given 
time  or  go  naked.  If  nakedness  will  not  "cure"  her, 
starvation  follows.  Should  she  withstand  torture  and 
still  refuse  to  yield  her  body  for  Fagan's  profit,  this 
daughter  of  the  people,  this  child  of  labor,  seeking  only 
the  means  to  life  in  food,  clothing  and  shelter,  must  in 
the  end  submit  to  the  ordeal  that  in  our  southland  costs 
the  perpetrator  his  life  at  the  stake.  Shocked?  Can 


Il8  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

this  be  true?  Why  not?  Your  whole  system  of  prosti 
tution  is  based  and  grounded  in  the  profit  system.  If 
this  girl  dies,  Fagan  loses  the  dollars  it  has  cost  her  to 
gain  possession  of  the  girl's  body.  "Slick"  must  be  paid. 
The  officials  of  a  Christian  city  must  be  "sugared."  T 
assure  you  the  raping  of  innocence  is  but  an  incident  in 
the  lives  of  those  who  operate  our  White  Slave  Pens 
in  Christian  America. 

Other  means  are  used  to  bring  victims  to  Pagan's. 
Other  want  ads  are  inserted  in  our  papers.  Other  agents 
beside  "Slick"  take  commission.  When  Fagan  has  a 
customer  who  wants  a  certain  mill  or  shop  girl  whose 
ruin  he  could  not  accomplish,  "Slick"  has  been  put  upon 
the  scent,  and  by  hook  or  crook,  be  it  weeks  or  months 
in  working  out,  he  secures  the  girl's  confidence  and 
finally  gets  her  to  accompany  him  to  a  place  where  she 
can  be  "handled"  without  fear  of  interference.  Then, 
when  she  is  safely  housed,  and  ready  to  surrender,  the 
man  who  sought  her  ruin  in  the  first  place  appears  as  a 
"savior"  and  shows  her  the  only  way  out. 

But  one  scene  in  our  story  is  laid  at  Pagan's.  But 
one  of  the  growing  "army  of  white  slaves"  plays  a  part 
in  the  unfoldment  of  our  tale,  and  this  is  the  manner  in 
which  the  victim  was  lured  into  the  net.  But  wait,  let 
us  first  enter  the  home  of  the  Widow  Davis  in  the  little 
village  of  Longs  Point,  and  make  the  acquaintance  of 
the  family. 

"Oh,  mother,  Pve  just  got  an  answer  to  the  letter 
I  wrote  Mr.  Johnson,  and  they  want  me  to  come  next 
Monday,  sure.  Think  of  it !  Pm  to  have  fifteen  dollars 
a  week  at  the  very  start,  and  more  in  just  a  little  while." 
The  speaker,  a  bright-faced  girl  of  eighteen,  threw  her 
self  into  her  mother's  arms  and,  patting  the  older  wom 
an's  cheeks,  protested,  "Now,  mother,  wasn't  you  a 
goose  to  object  to  my  sending  my  photo  to  them?  You 
may  read  it  yourself — they  say  they  especially  need  just 
such  a  figure  for  a  model  to  exhibit  all  kinds  of  fine 
gowns  and  cloaks  to  their  stylish  customers.  My,  won't 
it  be  jolly?  For  once  in  my  life  I  am  going  to  have 
more  clothes  on  my  back  than  I  can  ever  wear  out." 
Her  joyous  laugh  and  the  low  sobbing  of  the  mother 
sounded  together  for  a  moment  after  the  girl  had  ceased 


A   WHITE   SLAVE   TRADER  IIQ 

speaking;  then  the  mother,  drying  her  eyes  on  a  corner 
of  her  apron,  looked  up  and  tried  bravely  to  smile 
through  unshed  tears,  as  she  said: 

"I  don't  want  to  even  seem  unselfish,  Estella.  but  I 
do  hate  to  have  you  go — not  only  because  we  will  miss 
you  so,  but  there's  so  many  pitfalls  in  the  big  cities, 
child;  so  many.  You  have  been  all  your  life  in  this 
quiet  little  town,  and  I've  tried  hard  to  keep  a  home 
roof,  and  the  three  of  us  together " 

"Mother,  dear,"  the  girl  interrupted,  her  eyes  filling, 
"you  are  not  going  to  lose  me.  I'm  not  going  to  the 
jumping-ofr"  place ;  and  I'm  not  going  to  get  hung,  mur 
dered,  or  drowned;  I'm  just  going  to  try  my  wings. 
Why,  I'll  be  all  of  eighteen  whole  years  old  in  a  month, 
and  if  you  say  so  I  will  come  home  then,  just  to  show 
you  how  groundless  your  fears  and  suspicions  have 
been,  and  how  much  of  a  woman  I  am  grown  to  be  in 
the  city  in  one  little  month." 

"But  Stella,  don't  you  think  it  would  be  well  to 
give  this  letter  to  our  minister  and  have  'him  investigate 
and  see  if  this  firm  is  really  respectable?  I've  heard 
some  awful  stories  about  the  way  they  treat  girls  in 
some  of  those  places." 

"Why,  mother,  that  would  take  weeks  and  weeks. 
Besides,  here's  their  letterhead,"  she  took  the  letter  in 
question  from  her  mother's  trembling  hand,  "not  just 
a  printed  one,  you  see,  but — well,  anyway,  I  don't  know 
what  they  call  it,  but  you  can  see  it's  expensive,  and 
you  don't  suppose  they'd  go  to  all  that  trouble  if  they 
were  not  in  business  ?  Besides,  they  say,  'Our  reliability 
is  attested  by  the  record  of  our  sales  last  year,  amount 
ing  to  above  five  hunderd  thousand  dollars/  And  then 
they  want  me  next  Monday " 

"The  minister  could  go  in,"  the  mother  began. 

"How  you  talk,  mother.  Just  as  though  a  big  firm 
like  that  would  want  to  keep  a  place  waiting  for  a  little 
country  girl  while  ministers  or  any  one  else  nosed 
around  asking  if  they  were  respectable."  Throwing  her 
arms  about  her  mother,  she  concluded:  'Not  another 
word,  mother  mine,  not  one  more  tiny  little  word.  1 
wrote  them  before  I  came  up  from  the  store." 

The  mother's  voice  was  muffled  as  she  answered 
from  the  girl's  shoulder.  "It  ought  not  to  be  so  hard 


I2O    .  MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

for  me  to  let  you  go,  dear  heart,  for  you  are  a  good 
girl,  and  can  take  care  of  yourself,  and  I  suppose  I 
shouldn't  make  objections  when  I  know  you  always  do 
the  very  best  you  can  for  me — and,  and  Stella,  I  can 
trust  you  anywhere  to  love  God  and  live  right,  can't  I  ?'* 

"Yes,  mother,  always,"  with  a  kiss.  "There,  there, 
run  out  into  the  kitchen.  Ann  is  coming,  and  I  want  to 
surprise  her  all  by  myself.  That's  a  good  mother." 

Mrs.  Davis  had  but  left  the  room  when  her  eldest 
daughter,  an  overworked  teacher  in  the  towii  school, 
came  in  and  threw  herself  into  the  nearest  chair. 

"I  declare,  I  am  just  fagged  out.  Why,  Stell,  what's 
this?"  She  had  taken  the  letter  from  her  sister's  hand 
at  the  moment  she  sat  down,  but  had  been  so  absorbed  in 
her  own  troubles  that  her  mind  had  not  grasped  what 
her  eyes  saw  upon  the  paper.  After  that  first  question 
ing,  "what  is  this?"  she  did  not  lift  her  eyes  from  the 
letter  until  it  had  been  read  to  the  end. 

"Fifteen  dollars  per  week,  Stella?  And  nothing  to 
do  but  try  on  clothes.  Say,  Stell,  just  try  and  get  me 
a  job  there."  She  looked  up  at  the  radiant  girl  and 
tried  to  put  on  a  brave  face,  even  tho'  the  tears  were 
close.  "You  with  your  plump  figure,  togged  out  in  a 
thousand-dollar  gown,  could  have  me,  or  what's  left  of 
me,  after  eight  years'  fighting  with  an  average  of  forty- 
eight  boys  for  nine  months  out  of  each  year,  stand  be 
side  you  in  my  bones,  and  Miss  Botcher's  dress  fitting 
— why,  it  would  be  immense!"  Both  girls  laughed  as 
they  thought  of  the  dressmaker  whose  name  fitted  so 
well,  then  Ann  went  on  seriously:  "Stell,  you  think 
it  over,  and  tell  your  head  window  trimmer  about  it ;  he 
could  paint  a  sign,  "Before  and  After  Wearing  Our 
Gowns,"  and  hang  it  up  over  us.  We  are  near  enough 
alike  in  features  to  pass — say,  Stell,  you  must  get  me 
a  job." 

"Mother's  afraid  to  let  me  go,"  Estella  began,  when 
Ann,  forgetting  her  fatigue,  sprang  from  the  chair 
and  almost  took  her  sister  from  her  feet  as  she  caught 
and  kissed  her.  "Afraid  to  let  you  go?"  she  repeated. 
"Of  course  she's  afraid  to  let  you  go— why,  she  used 
to  be  afraid  to  let  me  go  out  and  close  the  yard  gate 
after  dark,  and  that  isn't  so  long  ago,  either.  But  you 
go.  Don't  stay  in  this  town  and  be  buried  before  you 


A   WHITE  SLAVE  TRADER  121 

die.  Look  at  me,  Stell — I  was  just  as  pretty  and  plump 
as  you  are,  at  your  age;  and  I'm  worked  to  death  at 
twenty-five,  and  no  one  seems  to  care  any  more."  With 
quivering  lips  and  eyes  filled  with  tears  the  teacher 
looked  into  her  young  sister's  bright  face,  and,  pluckily 
putting  self  behind  her,  went  on:  "Don't  miss  your 
chance  to  go  where  people  live ;  it  may  never  come  again 
— I'll  do  my  best  to  keep  mother  in  good  spirits." 

"Oh,  Ann,  you  are  so  good!"  Estella  whispered; 
"you  are  good  to  both  of  us — and  honestly,  Ann,  I  am 
not  at  all  anxious  for  myself;  I,  too,  want  to  help  keep 
this  little  home  for  mother." 

That  evening  after  consulting  time  tables  the  wid 
ow's  daughters  sent  a  message  to  the  city  stating  that 
Estella  Davis  would  arrive  at  the  Grand  Central  depot 
at  four  o'clock  the  afternoon  of  the  next  Sunday. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

MADAME  VAUGHN'S  AND  THE  EAGLE  CLUB. 

In  an  old  red  brick  mansion,  gray  stone  trimmed,  set 
well  back  in  shaded  grounds  on  one  of  the  respectable 
thoroughfares  of  the  metropolis  wherein  the  tragedy  of 
this  tale  unfolds,  there  is  high  revel  to-night.  Madame 
Vaughn  and  her  daughters  (by  adoption)  and  nieces 
pro  tanto,  who  have  their  automobile,  carriage,  trap,  and 
liveried  attendants,  are  enjoying  a  prosperous  season. 

Once  upon  a  time — a  time  held  green  in  the  memory 
of  staid  business  men,  and  mothers  of  other  mothers — 
this  old  red  brick  mansion  was  new.  Within  its  wel 
coming  portals  tripped  the  youth  and  beauty  of  a  city 
growing  to  the  years  of  accountability.  There  was  then 
laughter  and  song  within  these  walls — children's  happy 
voices — and  the  echoes  of  scampering  little  feet,  filled 
out  the  measure  of  harmony. 

But  hold !  Is  there  not  laughter  and  song  to-night  ? 
Yes,  they  are  laughing — but  such  laughter !  Those  who 
make  it  have  forgotten  how  to  make  laughter — that 
sweet  bubbling  over  of  pure  joy.  But  they  are  singing. 
Yes,  surely  Madame  Vaughn's  daughters  and  nieces 
sing.  Listen  to  the  ribald  words,  rude  flung  from  lips 
that  have  lost  the  perfume  of  youth's  sweet  flowers — 
music  wrung  in  ragtime  from  the  lips  of  women  who 
each  day  sink  lower  and  still  lower  into  the  yawning 
quagmire  of  vice,  and  cease  to  struggle,  even  while  there 
is  hope  of  rescue,  for  struggling  means  remembrance, 
and  to  them,  the  great  majority  of  them,  remembrance  is 
as  a  death's-head  at  a  feast. 

Madame  Vaughn's  old  red  brick  mansion,  with  its 
gray  stone  trimmings,  this  night,  all  nights,  knows  both 
song  and  laughter,  if  you  are  satisfied  to  so  name  the 
sounds  we  hear  in  passing.  Within  the  portals  of  this 
old  rmnsion  "the  better  element"  of  our  citizenship  pass 
and  repass.  No  Hooligan  or  harlot  from  the  street;  no 

122 


MADAME  VAUGHN'S  AND  THE  EAGLE  CLUB        123 

common  laborer  or  factory  girl  on  the  downward  way 
may  pass  the  gilded,  guarded  portals  of  this  great  estab 
lishment,  where  the  cheapest  room  rents  for  twenty  dol 
lars  per  night,  while  the  best  accommodations  the  house 
affords,  with  Madarne's  sweet-scented  presence  in  at 
tendance,  at  the  minimum,  costs  one  hundred  dollars. 
No,  this  old  red  brick  mansion  is  not  a  brothel — it  is 
worse!  Here  those  who  pose  and  preach,  and  hold 
themselves  above  the  common  life,  meet  to  do  to  death 
the  social  virtues  of  our  time. 

We  will  enter.  Are  you  safely  past  the  doorkeeper? 
Then  follow  me  to  the  parlor.  Once  upon  a  time  the 
portraits  of  men  and  women  who  had  served  their  coun 
try  and  their  families  with  equal  honor  adorned  these 
walls.  Look  you!  They  have  been  replaced  by  works 
of  art  depicting  God's  fairest  gift  to  earth  naked  and 
not  ashamed.  This  floor  was  covered  once  upon  a  time 
with  a  carpet  hallowed  by  the  tread  of  women  whose 
passions  were  sanctified  in  the  lives  of  prattling  babies. 
See,  in  the  corner  there;  a  dark  stain  is  peeping  from 
underneath  that  rug  with  a  border  of  lilies  of  the  valley. 
Just  the  other  night  a  young  man,  seeking  the  depths  of 
life's  cup  of  madness,  found  a  sister  in  the  woman  they 
would  have  put  into  his  polluted  arms.  Their  mingled 
blood  ate  deep  into  the  sturdy  oak.  Yes,  they  washed 
and  washed  again,  but  this  stain,  like  the  social  sin  from 
which  it  had  birth,  may  not  be  washed  away — the  very 
flooring  must  be  torn  out. 

See  those  bronzes?  Behold  the  priceless  marbles, 
mirrors,  and  other  splendid  furnishings.  Look  well ! 
To  pay  for  each  adornment  within  these  naked  walls 
women  have  wept  countless  tears,  both  here  and  in 
ruined  homes.  Souls  have  shriveled,  arid  bodies  have 
been  consumed  in  an  agony  of  pain  known  only  to  those 
damned  souls  who  have  visited  the  bottom  of  Hell's 
deepest  cave.  Look  about  you  and  ponder  well.  This 
old  red  brick  mansion  is  but  a  type.  In  this  broad  land, 
for  each  church  spire  pointing  toward  the  blue,  there 
stands  a  "Madame  Vaughn's,"  and  this  curse  is  being 
fastened  more  firmly  each  day  upon  us,  while  the  pus 
from  this  social  ulcer  wells  up  and  flows  into  respectable 
homes  over  the  doorsills  dedicated  to  the  sanctity  of 
virtue  and  family  honor. 


124  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

But  let  us  be  going.  On  a  Sunday  night  in  the  fu 
ture,  as  the  chimes  ring  out  the  hour  of  worship  from 
an  hundred  church  towers,  we  shall  return.  Then  you 
shall  look  upon  an  animated  picture;  and  as  you  look, 
your  very  heart  shall  sob  and  your  soul  cry  out  that 
this  cup,  too,  may  pass  from  the  lips  of  innocence. 

The  Eagle  Club  is  housed  in  a  most  pretentious 
structure.  As  I  have  gazed  upon  it  from  over  the  way, 
I  have  not  wondered  that  many  of  our  good  citizens, 
who  fall  below  its  requirements  in  the  matter  of  any 
one  or  more  of  the  requisites  to  membership — a  goodly 
bank  account,  a  well-tested  political  pull,  and  last,  but 
not  least,  a  way  of  finding  easy  money — feel  envious, 
yet  withal  are  proud  that  WE  have  such  a  magnificent 
club  building  and  Club  within  our  city. 

Certainly,  there  are  other  Clubs,  and  some  of  them 
quite  pretentious,  but  the  "Eagle,"  like  that  old  red 
brick  mansion,  gray  stone  trimmed,  easily  stands  at  the 
head.  What  the  saloon  of  our  political  ward-heeler 
"Bat"  is  to  the  brothel,  the  "Eagle"  and  its  brood  is 
to  such  establishments  as  that  of  Madame  Vaughn. 

See  how  imposing  is  its  massive  granite  front.  Sup 
porting  the  beautiful  cornice  of  winged  Cupids,  those 
splendid  monoliths  give  one  the  impression  of  super- 
strength.  Behold  its  great  plate  windows  flanked  by 
iron,  tortured  by  the  cunning  hand  of  skilled  workmen 
into  marvelous  creations — flowers  and  leaves,  and  curv 
ing,  twisting,  curling  threads  of  drawn  metal.  See 
those  great  doors?  As  they  hang  loaded  with  a  wealth 
of  bronze  trimmings  they  each  cost  a  prince's  ransom. 

Behind  all  this  outward  show  of  strength  and  beauty 
there  is  a  prodigality  of  wealth — a  riot  of  luxurious  ap 
pointment,  and  menial  service  par  excellence.  If  you 
but  have  the  "front"  necessary  to  gain  admittance  to 
the  Eagle  Club,  an  hundred  doors  open  to  your  need 
of  asylum.  Within  the*e  walls  you  may  do  anything 
short  of  murder,  and  the  flunkies,  so  long  as  they  are 
retained,  will  keep  your  secrets  as  do  the  massive  granite 
walls.  Your  friends,  whatever  the  bond  that  binds  them 
to  you — loyalty,  pull,  graft,  business,  vice,  crime,  or 
what  not — may  reach  you  through  the  "Eagle,"  and  all 


125 

the  world  outside  will  remain  in  ignorance  of  your 
meeting,  or  your  plotting. 

These  massive  doors,  front,  side  and  rear,  lead  into 
many  suites  where  young  men  learn  to  take  the  down 
ward  way;  where  drunkards  are  made  to  order;  where 
women,  and  many  of  them  wives,  are  bought  and  sold ; 
where  the  people's  liberties  are  traded  in  by  statesmen 
as  puts  and  calls  are  dealt  upon  the  board  of  trade; 
where  Captains  of  Industry  plan  their  gentlemen's 
agreements  and  their  next  sally  upon  some  crippled  busi 
ness;  where  employers  meet  the  agents  they  have  hired 
to  hire  other  men  to  spy  upon  the  men  in  their  em 
ploy;  where  judges  and  attorneys  meet  to  misconstrue 
the  law. 

Here,  behind  these  massive  walls,  you  may  see  the 
meeting  of  all  the  forces  that  cut  deep  into  the  virtues 
of  our  time,  save  one.  Saloon,  hotel  and  lodging  house, 
this  club  has  such  respect  for  Madame  Vaughn  and  the 
common  decencies  that  women  are  barred  by  law.  How 
ever,  it  has  been  whispered  that  members  have  enter 
tained  lady  friends,  the  latter  in  male  attire. 

In  its  gymnasium  on  quiet  nights  "pugs"  from  the 
squared  circle  are  entertained.  In  its  card  rooms,  young 
bloods  who  live  beyond  the  need  to  labor  sit  down  to 
lose  the  gold  their  fathers  wrung  from  industry  to  card 
sharps  who  in  politics  are  leaders  in  the  municipality's 
struggle  for  better  things.  In  athletics  the  gaming  pro 
clivities  of  the  Eagle's  brood  debases  whatsoever  it 
touches. 

Are  the  majority  of  the  members  of  the  Eagle  such 
debased,  depraved,  debauched  men  as  this  indictment 
would  imply?  No,  surely  not!  The  Eagle  Club  can 
send  its  full  membership  forth  ttpon  short  notice  to 
grace  a  "function"  in  the  name  of  charity,  and  each 
man  jack  of  them  will  appear  in  immaculate  linen,  fault 
lessly  attired,  and  stand  approved  of  the  world — a  gen 
tleman.  Again,  within  its  portals  this  club  has  enter 
tained  the  paunchy  prognosticator  and  the  gold-filled 
human  icicle.  Its  lavish  hospitality  has  been  tested  by 
every  grade  of  nobleman  the  old  world  has  produced, 
and  others  who,  craving  the  servile  worship  of  the  free 
and  the  brave,  to  say  nothing  of  the  chance  of  securing 
a  few  good  American  millions,  have  passed  the  portals 


126  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

of  the  Eagle  as  lords,  counts,  dukes,  and  earls,  when  in 
truth  they  were  but  sorry  adventurers,  though  probably 
of  better  blood  than  were  the  men  they  aped.  No,  surely 
the  Eagle  Club  is  not  to  be  lightly  condemned.  Its 
every  member  has  the  outward  seeming  of  gentility; 
and  this  same  outward  seeming  is  society's  sole  badge 
of  honor. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A  WHITE  SLAVE  PEN. 

On  the  Sunday  appointed  for  the  introduction  of 
just  another  of  our  country  girls  to  the  mysteries  of 
city  life,  a  closed  carriage  drew  up  on  a  side  street  near 
the  depot  at  ten  minutes  to  four.  "Slick"  Snively 
alightei  therefrom  and  sauntered  over  to  the  great  .cen 
tral  station,  leaving  no  less  a  personage  in  the  carriage 
than  Fagan.  At  five  minutes  past  four  ''Slick"  reap 
peared  at  the  least  frequented  exit  from  the  station  car 
rying  a  suit  case  and  leading  a  pretty  young  woman. 
Immediately  the  driver  of  Pagan's  carriage  whipped  up 
his  team  and  pulled  up  on  the  corner  just  long  enough 
to  allow  Fagan  to  open  the  door  from  within,  when 
"Slick"  threw  the  suitcase  in  and  hurriedly  assisted  the 
young  lady  to  enter.  With  a  signal  to  the  driver  "Slick" 
turned  and  walked  rapidly  toward  the  heart  of  the  city, 
as  the  carriage  rattled  away  over  the  ill-paved  streets 
toward  the  south. 

Upon  regaining  her  breath  after  being  hurried  from 
the  train  to  the  carriage  Estella  took  a  good  look  at  the 
lady  sitting  opposite — no,  she  didn't  like  her — but  then, 
in  business  we  are  not  supposed  to  like  people ;  we  either 
use  them  or  they  use  us.  Was  Mrs.  Collins  going  to 
speak  first?  It  seemed  that  that  lady  was  well  pleased 
with  the  golden  silence.  "Well,  one  of  us  must  begin," 
the  girl  told  herself,  and  the  next  moment  was  saying: 
"Pardon  me;  is  this  Mrs.  Collins?" 

'Yes,  I'm  Mrs.  Collins,"  the  lady  replied,  smiling, 
and  wondered  how  many  other  names  "Slick"  would  in 
vent  for  her. 

"Mr.  Johnson  informs  me  that  you  are  the  leading 
saleslady,  and  will  have  charge  of  my  education."  Fa 
gan  nodded,  and  Estella  asked:  "May  I  enquire  where 
we  are  going?" 

"I  am  taking  you  to  my  house." 
127 


128  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

"I'm  so  glad!"  the  girl  exclaimed,  and  added:  "I 
must  look  like  a  fright  after  riding  almost  all  day — but 
isn't  it  putting  you  out  to  take  me  to  your  home?" 

"Oh,  no,"  Pagan  assured  her,  "I  am  quite  used  to 
taking  care  of  the  girls  Mr.  Johnson  gets  for  our  busi 
ness."  Turning  from  the  girl's  searching  eyes,  she 
smiled  grimly  as  she  noted  the  progress  they  were  mak 
ing. 

The  sights  of  the  town  had  attracted  Estella's  atten 
tion  and  she  was  intensely  interested  in  the  passing 
throng,  while  a  number  of  those  at  whom  she  gazed 
turned  a  second  time  to  look  at  the  sweet  face  at  the 
carriage  window.  Seeing  this,  Fagan  deliberately  low 
ered  the  blinds  over  the  upper  half  of  the  glass,  observ 
ing  as  she  did  so,  that  she  didn't  enjoy  being  stared  at. 

When  the  carriage  stopped  in  front  of  Pagan's  there 
wasn't  a  soul  in  sight,  unless  we  are  charitable  enough  to 
assume  that  the  beer-tub  of  a  policeman,  who  waddled 
away  as  the  carriage  drew  up  to  the  curb,  had  a  soul. 
This  policeman,  as  dirty  as  the  law  allows ;  as  lazy  as  a 
fat  coon  at  the  after  end  of  a  sun  bath,  knew  all  about 
Pagan's.  His  waddling  away  out  of  sight  of  the  house 
would  allow  him  to  swear  upon  honor,  should  trouble 
come,  that,  he  "never  seen  nobody  tooken  out  iv  th'  rig 
th'  day  ye  mention." 

Gus,  Pagan's  burly  bartender,  ran  out  and  opened 
the  carriage  door,  the  driver  and  he  exchanging  winks 
and  grins  the  while.  Fagan  threw  the  suitcase  to  him: 
as  he  caught  it  with  one  hand  he  reached  the  other  beer- 
stained  paw  into  the  carriage. 

"Let  the  gentleman  help  you  out,"  Fagan  admonished 
the  girl,  who  shrank  back  from  the  leering  hulk  before 
her.  In  an  undertone  the  woman  asked:  "Is  the  coast 
clear,  Gus?" 

Gus  winked,  caught  Estella  by  the  sleeve  of  her 
jacket,  and  in  a  twinkling,  with  the  assistance  of  Fagan, 
the  girl  was  whisked  over  the  pavement  and  started  on 
her  way  to  the  upper  world ;  but  not  before  she  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  wretched  street,  the  dirty,  grime- 
covered  pavement  and  the  sickening  squalor  of  all  vis 
ible  things  about  her.  On  the  first  landing  Fagan 
turned  to  Gus,  who  still  held  Estella's  arm  in  his  grasp, 


A    WHITE   SLAVE   PEN 

and  said:  "I  can  manage  her  now — you  get  back  to 
the  bar." 

Down  the  hall  Estella  heard  a  man's  voice  in  song, 
then  the  high  falsetto  of  a  female  voice  joined  in  the 
chorus.  The  words  of  the  song — unprintable — brought 
a  blush  of  shame  to  her  cheeks.  Out  of  a  near-by  door 
way  appeared  a  tousled-headed  woman  who  had  ap 
parently  just  gotten  out  of  bed.  Her  eyes  were  swollen, 
her  face  blotched  with  great,  angry  red  pimples,  her 
lips  thick  and  protruding — her  whole  aspect  one  of  aban 
don  to  dissipation  and  disease  that  had  marked  her  for 
early  death. 

"Ruth,"  Pagan  called  to  this  wretched  being, 
"where's  'Red?'" 

"I  don't  know,"  Ruth  answered,  and  again  the  chorus 
of  that  awful  song  floated  out  to  them.  Estella  was 
struck  dumb,  almost  paralyzed  with  fear,  and  her  inno 
cent  brown  eyes  were  turned  upon  the  face  of  the  woman 
Ruth.  Horror,  loathing,  and  all  else  that  a  pure  young 
girl  might  feel  in  her  presence,  Ruth  read  in  her  face. 

"What  th'  devil  are  you  staring  at?"  she  demanded, 
coming  closer  to  the  girl,  who  shrank  back  as  from  con 
tagion. 

"You're  some  now,  ain't  you?  But  you  wait,"  the 
woman  laughed.  "If  you're  alive  in  five  years  just  take 
another  look  in  the  glass — that's  all."  With  that  she 
turned  to  her  room  and,  entering,  slammed  the  door. 

Estella  had  fallen  at  the  feet  of  her  captor  without 
uttering  a  word.  Ruth  was  called ;  so,  too,  the  drunken 
man  and  his  equally  drunken  companion;  between  them, 
this  new  victim  of  the  "system"  was  carried  to  the  tog 
floor  and  deposited  on  a  filthy  bed  in  an  inside  room, 
where  outcry  could  not  be  heard  from  the  outside  world ; 
where  rescue  was  all  but  impossible. 

A  bottle  of  vile  whisky  produced  from  the  pocket 
of  the  drunken  man,  the  burning  liquid  was  forced  be 
tween  the  lips  of  this  sweet  flower  from  God's  garden — 
one  of  the  children  we  love — who  had  been  lured  into 
hell.  Lured  into  hell  that  respectable  citizens  and  poli 
ticians  might  make  profit  out  of  the  distillation  of  her 
beauty  and  virtue,  then  fling  the  residue  of  her  young 
life  on  society's  dung-heap  for  "W.  C.  A.'s"  and  other 
kindred  patchers  to  pry  at  and  pray  over. 


130  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

While  the  drunken  man  caressed  his  equally  drunken 
mate;  while  Pagan  stood  speculating  as  to  the  cost  of 
bringing  the  girl  across ;  while  Ruth  looked  at  the  new 
comer  with  envy,  telling  herself  that  should  she  have 
such  a  chance  as  she  saw  ahead  of  this  beautiful  girl 
she  would  not  be  such  a  fool  as  to  take  to  dope  again; 
while  they  stood  grouped  about  the  bed,  Estella  re 
gained  consciousness.  Springing  from  the  bed,  she  ran 
to  the  door,  to  find  it  locked.  With  a  cry  that  pierced 
to  the  floors  below  she  threw  out  her  hands: 

"Mother,  mother,  mother — God  forgive  me!  you 
knew !" 

"Oh,  if  mother  could  only  see  me  now !"  the  drunken 
man  mocked,  while  Ruth  and  his  companion  laughed  at 
the  agony  of  the  victim. 

"Clear  out  and  leave  her  to  me !"  Pagan  commanded, 
and  the  trio  quit  the  room,  the  man  insisting  that  he 
was  entitled  to  a  kiss  for  having  carried  her  upstairs. 
"Send  'Red'  up!"  Pagan  shouted  after  them,  and  turned 
to  find  the  girl  on  her  knees  at  her  feet. 

'Mrs.  Collins,  tell  me,"  the  girl  pleaded,  "as  >ou 
remember  your  own  mother,  "what  kind  of  a  place  is 
this  you  have  brought  me  to?  Tell  me,  in  the  name  of 
God!" 

"Oh,  cut  it!"  Pagan  cried,  catching  Estella  by  the 
shoulders.  "I'm  tired  of  hearing  you  young  things  beg 
in  the  name  of  God  for  a  day  or  two,  then  in  the  name 
of  mercy  after  you  find  that  the  preacher's  god  don't 
reach  outside  the  church;  then  when  you  know  what 

you're  up  against,  it's  'Please,  Fa Mrs.  Collins,  tell 

me  what  you  want  and  I'll  do  it/    I  tell  you  I'm  tired 
of  it." 

Shuddering  in  every  fiber  of  her  being,  this  seven 
teen-year-old  daughter  of  the  'church  crouched  before 
her  captor.  No  longer  holding  to  the  skirts  of  this  hag 
of  hell,  the  literal,  all  too  literal  hell,  she  bowed  her 
head  and  steeled  her  heart  to  hear  her  doom. 

"There's  no  hope  of  any  of  your  people  finding  you." 
The  girl  winced,  but  no  sound  escaped  her  set  lips. 
"And  so  if  you  have  a  lick  of  sense  you  will  take  what's 
a  straight  tip.  The  sooner  you  and  I  come  to  terms, 
the  sooner  you'll  get  out  of  this  room  and  move  down 
stairs.  With  your  youth  and  that  face  and  figure  of 


A    WHITE   SLAVE   PEN  13! 

yours,  the  fool  men  will  fall  over  themselves  to  give 
you  anything  you  ask  for ;  and  I  tell  you  flat  you've  got 
to  come  to  it.  You're  going  to  have  time  to  think  it 
over;  but  when  that  time's  up  there'll  be  things  doing 
if  you  don't  come  across,  that's  all." 

Pagan  looked  down  at  her  victim,  and  in  a  matter 
-of-fact  voice  added:  "When  you  come  right  down  to 
business,  this  is  just  as  honorable  and  all  that  sort  of 
rot,  as  marrying  for  money — so  make  up  your  mind  to 
do  what  I  want  you  to,  and  the  sooner  you  db  the  bet 
ter  for  you.  For  instance,  how  would  you  like  to  have 
Gus,  the  gent  that  met  us  at  the  carriage,  come  up  and 
visit  you?" 

"Oh,  not  that!  not  that!"  Estella  protested,  spring 
ing  to  her  feet  to  face  her  tormentor. 

Pagan  backed  toward  the  door,  saying:  "Well,  think 
it  over — there's  been  girls  in  this  room  that  fared 
worse." 

For  hours  after  Fagan  left  the  room  Estella  Davis 
lay  upon  the  filthy  bed  weeping  and  praying,  then  com 
plete  exhaustion  brought  sleep  to  her  troubled  mind's 
rescue.  When  she  awoke  it  was  to  find  a  red-haired 
woman  bending  over  her,  saying  in  no  unfriendly  voice : 
"So  our  country  bird  has  had  a  good  night's  sleep,  has 
she  ?" 

"Have  I  been  here  all  night?  Is  this  another  day? 
O  my  God,  I  can't  bear  to  think.  Is  there  no  way  out 
of  this  wretched  place?  Please,  please  help  me;  isn't 
there  a  way  out?"  The  girl  poured  a  flood  of  ques 
tions  at  the  woman  who  stood  by  the  bed  intently  study 
ing  her. 

A  chill  of  death  pierced  her  heart  as  she  looked  into 
the  woman's  eyes,  when  she  had  spent  herself  question 
ing,  and  heard  "Red"  Kate's  verdict: 

"There's  just  two  ways,  an'  one  of  them's  to  die." 

"If  I  don't  do  what  Mrs.  Collins  wants,  how  long 
will  they  keep  me  here?" 

"Until  you're  ready  to  give  in  and  do  like  the  rest 
of  us  has  to  do.  I  tell  you  there's  only  one  way  to  git 
out  of  here  alive,"  "Red"  asserted,  firmly. 

Leaving  the  bed,  Estella  examined  every  corner  of 
her  prison,  peered  into  a  smelly  clothes  closet,  turned  to 
another  door  and  found  nothing  but  a  pile  of  filthy  rags 


132  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

in  an  equally  filthy  toilet  room;  all  lit  from  a  skylight 
upon  which  the  year's  accumulation  of  soot  and  dirt 
had  never  been  removed.  In  all  her  search  she  found 
nothing  upon  which  to  hang  a  hope  for  bodily  comfort, 
let  alone  a  way  looking  toward  liberty.  Turning  back 
to  the  woman  who  had  watched  her  every  movement, 
she  inquired,  "Where  are  my  clothes  and  all  the  things 
I  brought  here?" 

"Perkin'  up  some,  all  right,  when  you  can  ask  after 
your  glad  rags  the  second  day,"  Kate  observed,  as  the 
girl  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed.  "First  one  I've  seen  in 
here  that  didn't*  either  pull  out  hair  by  the  handful,  or 
sulk  like  a  settin'  hen.  Say,"  she  continued,  "I  would 
honest  hate  to  see  you  stripped  and  starved.  You're 
made  of  th'  right  stuff,  an*  I'd  like  f  help  you.  You 
jist  better  tell  the  Madame  you're  ready  for  biz  an'  have 
it  over  with.  An'  you  don't  need  to  worry  none,  she 
ain't  going  to  hand  you  over  to  Gus  an'  th'  gang  that 
comes  here;  she  won't  turn  you  over  to  no  such  blokes 
as  them.  Why  (with  cool,  discriminating  eye  judgment 
she  looked  the  girl  over  from  head  to  foot),  you  ought 
to  fetch  the  top,  an'  fall  plump  into  a  tub  of  good  things. 
God,  girl !  I  wisht  I  had  your  chance !"  Her  exclama 
tion  was  vehement. 

As  the  girl  measured  the  woman  before  her,  and 
realized  that  she  was  speaking  from  the  heart,  earnest 
ly  seeking  to  do  what  lay  in  her  power  to  aid,  a  deep 
pity  for  the  woman  filled  her  soul.  "Red"  Kate  was  not 
all  bad,  then;  something  of  womanliness  was  still  hers 
after  the  buffeting  of  all  the  years  of  her  slavery. 

"What  do  you  mean?  What  chance  do  they  offer 
me,  which,  if  you  had  it,  would  improve  your  lot?" 

"Improve  my  lot !"  she  grasped  the  girl's  arm.  "Girl, 
you  don't  know  what  even  the  lot  of  such  as  me  is  in 
one  of  these  places.  I'm  the  dog,  the  drudge,  the — the 
— my  God,  don't  you  drive  them  to  torture  you  until 
you  ain't  fit  to  go  out  of  here.  Promise  Madame  to 
do  anything  she  asks  if  she  will  only  git  you  some  swell 
guy  to  take  care  of  you.  Lie  to  her ;  make  her  believe 
you  have  been  on  the  turf.  But  stick  to  it  that  you 
won't  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  scum  that  comes  to 
this  place — it's  the  only  way  out." 

Steps  sounding  in  the  hall,  "Red"  Kate  made  a  sign 


A    WHITE   SLAVE   PEN  133 

of  silence  to  the  prisoner  and  busied  herself  about  the 
untidy  room.  A  key  turned  in  the  lock  and  Pagan  en 
tered,  looking  first  at  the  girl  on  the  edge  of  the  bed, 
then  at  Kate  as  she  stooped  over  a  shabby  rug. 

"You  can  go,  "Red;"  if  our  visitor  wants  to  clean 
house  it  will  be  good  exercise  for  her  to  look  after  the 
room  herself."  Estella  did  not  look  up,  even  after  Kate 
had  gone,  and  she  knew  Pagan  stood  regarding  her. 

"Well,  Miss  Moore,  how  are  you  this  morning?" 
At  the  question  Estella  gave  a  quick  glance  about,  and 
Pagan  laughed. 

"You  don't  seem  to  recognize  your  new  name,"  she 
bantered. 

"My  new  name?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Norma  Moore;  ain't  it  a  stunner?" 

"But  it's  not  mine ;  you  know  it's  not  mine,"  the  girl 
protested. 

"I  know  it  is  yours,  and  advise  you  to  forget  that 
you  ever  had  any  other.  You  will  find  it  a  pretty  good 
graft  to  have  a  good  name,  so  you  ought  to  thank  me 
instead  of  looking  at  me  as  though  you  were  afraid  I 
might  eat  you." 

"I'm  not  afraid,"  Estella  retorted,  but  her  heart 
thumped  in  panic  as  the  woman  grinned  and  came  to 
her. 

"How  are  you  feeling  this  morning?"  Pagan  next 
asked,  and  was  surprised  at  the  answer. 

"I'm  hungry  as  a  wolf.  If  you  will  remember,  I 
haven't  had  a  bite  since  I  ate  my  lunch  on  the  train- 
yesterday."  Narrowly  she  watched  every  line  of  her 
jailer's  face.  Was  she  all  bad?  Was  there  nothing  to 
do  but  fight  for  time  and  hope  that  Kate  might  accom 
plish  her  deliverance?  If  that  were  the  only  way  out, 
she  must  not  quarrel  with  Mrs.  Collins.  There  was 
grave  doubt  on  the  keeper's  part  as  well.  What  sort 
of  a  girl  was  this?  Young  and  innocent-looking,  but 
she  didn't  rave  and  pray  as  the  others  did.  Would  she 
be  the  easier  handled  for  that,  or  would  it  be  another 
case  like  that  of  the  big  blond — they  were  some  alike, 
Pagan  told  herself  as  she  turned  at  the  door  to  say, 
"I'll  have  something  sent  up,  and  hope  you  will  forgive 
me  for  not  thinking  of  it  last  night." 

On  the  floor  below  she  found  "Red"  Kate.     "Say, 


134  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

'Red,'  what's  the  rip  with  the  girl  upstairs — she  hasn't 
caved  this  soon,  has  she?" 

Kate  laughed.  "Fooled  you,  didn't  she?  She  ain't 
got  no  cavin'  to  do.  Why,  she's  a  sport,  and  a  top- 
notcher  at  that,  or  you  may  steam  me."  "Red"  was 
laying  the  wires  for  Estella's  release,  without  the  young 
lady  knowing  aught  of  the  matter,  and  it  is  quite  likely 
that  she  would  have  been  forbidden  to  hint  such  a  lie  to 
Pagan  had  Estella  been  consulted. 

The  girl  in  the  room  above  sat  down  when  Fagan 
left  her  to  face  the  greatest  problem  of  her  life.  She 
did  not  dare  to  die,  even  if  means  to  that  end  were  at 
hand.  A  religious  faith  that  doomed  the  suicide  to  suf 
fer  outside  the  gates  of  heaven  through  all  eternity  left 
but  one  path  open  to  her.  She  wondered  if  "Red"  Kate 
really  knew  just  how  hard  that  path  would  prove  to  be? 
And  what  would  happen  should  she  refuse  to  wear  her 
new  name  and  surrender  her  virtue  ?  Satisfied  that  there 
was  but  one  thing  to  choose,  and  that  a  life  abhorrent, 
she  threw  herself  on  the  bed  and  buried  her  burning 
face  upon  the  tear-soaked  pillow,  and  was  still  crying 
out  that  the  thing  they  asked  of  her  was  more  than  she 
could  give,  even  for  life  itself,  when  Kate  brought  her 
breakfast. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


A   TRAGEDY   AT    MADAME  S. 

At  Madame  Vaughn's  the  night  after  Estella 
Davis  arrived  at  Pagan's  a  tragedy  was  enacted  that 
cost  the  life  of  one  of  her  charming  daughters,  also 
the  life  of  a  transient  customer — a  visitor  to  the  city. 

But  think  not  that  the  harmony  drawn  from  taut 
gut  and  wire  under  strain,  and  that  happiness  pro 
jected  in  lewd  jest  and  ragtime,  in  Madame's  old  red 
brick  mansion  is  to  be  hushed;  or  that  this  establish 
ment  is  to  be  brought  to  book  an»d  made  to  give  aa 
accounting  of  its  connection  with  -this  tragedy,  wherein 
an  erring  brother  chancing  upon  a  long  lost  sister,  took 
into  his  own  puny  hands  the  instrument  of  vengeance, 
plunging  two  lives,  in  a  moment  of  insanity,  into  the 
great  beyond. 

No,  there  is  'too  much  of  power,  too  much  of  social 
explosive,  too  much  of  intrigue,  too  much  of  profit,  too 
much  of  practical  politics  stored  in  the  old  red  brick 
mansion  for  the  two  dead  bodies  to  be  given  into  the 
bands  of  the  city's  officers. 

No  sooner  is  the  last  shot  fired,  the  last  body  fallen 
to  the  velvet  covered  floor  of  Madame's  parlor,  than  the 
underground  force  that  serves  to  bind  crime  and  politics 
was  put  to  work.  Telephones  ring  and  ring  again.  Out 
from  dark  and  loathsome  places  in  our  great  metropolis 
men  and  women  come  trooping  to  do  -the  will  of  this  en- 
rtertainer  of  wealthy,  representative  citizens.  The  or 
ders  issued  by  Madame  are  that  these  bodies  be  re 
moved. 

In  the  gray  light  of  the  next  morning  the  man's 
body  was  found  by  working  men  on  their  way  to  toil, 
half  hidden  by  weeds  upon  a  vacant  lot.  The  "victim" 
had  been  roughly  used;  clothes  torn  and  pockets  rifled 
(the  loot  Madame's  servants  left  upon  the  body  paid 
in  part  the  cost  of  having  him  thrown  there).  The 

135 


136  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

police  were  notified,  but  before  their  arrival  a  morbid 
crowd  had  collected,  and  proceeded  roundly  to  curse  the 
police  and  the  hold-up  men,  as  they  pushed  and  craned, 
and  struggled  to  view  the  remains. 

No  mark  of  identification,  no  name;  just  another 
stranger  in  a  strange  city  murdered  and  robbed  on  the 
highway.  How  that  commonplace  mob  of  average  citi 
zens  of  the  common  life  would  have  shuddered  could 
they  have  divined  the  awful  social  tragedy  written  in 
the  death  of  this  nameless  one! 

Far  from  the  old  red  brick  mansion  that  morning, 
on  a  street  given  over  to  the  lost  among  women,  to 
poverty  and  crime,  festering  crime,  in  a  dilapidated 
building  displaying  the  sign  "Furnished  Rooms,"  in  a 
small  back  hallroom  lay  the  body  of  a  young  and  beau 
tiful  woman.  She  lay  with  her  dark  mass  of  hair  hang 
ing  to  the  floor,  her  body  half  on,  half  off  the  bed. 
Upon  the  floor  lies  her  brother's  revolver.  The  daily 
press  told  that  morning  of  a  brutal  murder  on  the 
West  Side,  and  in  the  next  column  of  the  News  you 
may  read  the  story  of  a  beautiful  woman's  suicide  in 
a  cheap  lodging  house  in  the  red-light  district. 

At  all  events,  the  woman  who  kept  the  house  swore 
the  girl  had  been  with  her  for  more  than  a  week.  Swore 
that  she  had  kept  to  her  room  almost  constantly.  And 
still  swore  she  was  positive  there  was  no  one  with  the 
girl  when  she  shot  herself — yes,  she  heard  the  shot  fired, 
but  thought  it  was  some  of  the  boys  practicing  in  the 
basement. 

One  of  the  girls  in  the  house  swore  she  went  out 
with  "Lib"  the  night  before.  That  they  had  returned 
together,  and  "Lib"  (they  gave  her  this  name  after 
death,  and  it  fitted  as  well  as  another)  was  feeling  down 
on  her  luck  and  talked  about  ending  it  all.  That  "Lib" 
went  up  to  her  room  about  eleven  o'clock.  No,  she 
didn't  hear  the  shot,  but  she  swore  she  believed  the  girl 

had  killed  herself,  as  she  had  threatened  to  do. 

****** 

To-day  Madame  Vaughn's  daughters  and  nieces  are 
not  quite  so  buoyant  as  is  their  wont,  but  business  goes 
on,  laughter  and  song  still  cheer  the  merry  gentlemen 
who  pay  the  score.  Madame,  too,  is  depressed,  not  that 
she  fears  the  crime  will  be  traced  to  her  doors,  but  rather 


A  TRAGEDY  AT  MADAME^S  137 

that  the  knowledge  of  the  tragedy  which  will  -find  both 
voice  and  ears  among  the  inner  circle  of  her  retainers 
is  likely  to  affect  business  adversely  for  several  days 
to  come.  On  still  another  count  Madame  mourns.  Was 
not  this  fresh  young  beauty,  soon  to  rest  in  one  of  the 
city's  pauper  lots,  one  of  the  sweetest  baits  she  had 
ever  had  to  dangle  before  the  greedy  eyes  of  her  clients  ? 
And  surely,  most  surely,  the  loss  of  the  profit  this  girl's 
surrender  brought  to  Madame's  bank  account  is  rea 
son  enough  to  account  for  Madame's  rather  sullen  face 
this  morning.  We  find  Madame  seated  at  her  writing 
table  in  a  boudoir  filled  to  overcrowding  with  all  the 
comforts  and  luxuries  modern  labor,  ingenuity  and  art 
so  abundantly  produce  by  the  aid  of  machinery,  in  this 
age  of  machines  and  human  things  to  run  them.  A  boy 
enters — page  to  this  queen  in  the  kingdom  of  painted 
Eves. 

"Pagan's  downstairs,  and  wants  to  see  you/'  he  an 
nounced. 

"Pagan?"  Madame  looked  up.  "So  Pagan  wants 
her  pay  for  the  part  her  people  had  in  covering  up  the 
tragedy  rather  hurriedly,"  Madame  thought,  but  to  the 
boy  she  said,  "Show  her  up.  Wait;  did  she  come  in 
by  the  front  way?" 

"What?  Pagan?"  the  boy  asked.  The  very  suspi 
cion  that  Pagan  could  be  so  indiscreet,  and  in  broad 
daylight  at  that,  was  resented  by  this  world-wise  youth. 
"I  should  say  not!  She  came  up  the  alley.  Pagan 
wasn't  born  yesterday,"  he  concluded,  with  a  laugh. 

Madame  did  not  like  the  woman  who  in  the  hall  be 
low  was  waiting  the  return  of  the  boy.  Pagan  is  not 
in  Madame's  class.  The  gulf  between  is  measured  not 
so  much  by  class  distinction  as  by  the  wide  difference 
in  the  methods  used  by  the  two  for  the  piling  up  of 
profits.  Madame  holds  herself  the  more  respectable. 
Madame  may  be  a  sinner,  she  admits  as  much ;  but  Pa 
gan  is  impossible,  unspeakable!  She  was  still  thinking 
of  this  difference  when  a  cheery  voice  sounded  from  the 
doorway,  and  Pagan,  superbly  gowned  and  jeweled, 
stood  bowing  her  salutation. 

"Come  in,  Pagan;  I'm  delighted  to  see  you,  for  I 
can  hand  you  the  money  to  square  your  folks  for  han 
dling  that  job  the  other  night." 


138  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"Why,"  Pagan  declared  as  she  seated  herself  across 
the  table  from  her  hostess,  "do  you  know  I  never 
thought  of  that — what  I  came  to  -see  you  about  is  a  girl 

down  at  my  street  place.  I  have  no  usfe  for  her 

down  there,  and  I  thought  since  Myrt — well,  since  the 
trouble  you  had  here  the  night  before  last — if  you  could 
get  a  girl  to  take  her  place,  one  who  is  in  every  way 
as  good,  better,  in  fact,  better  figure,  better  eyes,  better 
mettle,  'a  topnotcher,'  I  thought  you'd  be  glad  of  the 
chance." 

Madame  was  surprised  that  Fagan  should  have  the 
nerve  to  offer  her,  the  great  Madame  Vaughn,  a  girl 
from  such  a  place,  and  showed  it. 

"Why,  Fagan !"  she  exclaimed,  "whatever  put  it  into 
your  head  that  I  could  possibly  use  one  of  your  girls?" 

"She  isn't  one  of  my  kind,  Isabella.  That's  why  I 
knew  you'd  want  her.  She's  different." 

"Where  did  you  pick  her  up  ?"  Madame  inquired. 

"In  the  country — oh,  she's  not  an  unformed,  gawky, 
gander-legged  thing,"  the  visitor  added  hastily;  "she's 
the  best  ever,  and  in  the  duds  you'd  put  on  her  she'd 
be  worth  at  least  two  hundred  dollars  clean  money  per 
month  to  you." 

"And  suppose  I  took  this  country  paragon  off  your 
hands,  how  much  would  it  set  me  back  as  an  invest 
ment?" 

"We  won't  talk  about  that  now;  you  come  and  see 
the  girl — you  won't  be  hard  to  deal  with  after  that." 

"Honest,  Fagan,"  Madame  answered,  "I  don't  like 
to  go  down  there." 

"Suit  yourself,  Isabelle;  I  remember  the  time  when 
you  wasn't  so  damned  partic " 

"Cut  it,  Fagan.  We  don't  need  to  quarrel,"  Madame 
interposed  softly.  "Suppose  I  come  down  in  a  closed 
carriage  to-morrow  at  three;  will  that  suit  you?" 

"Anything  to  please  you,"  Fagan  replied. 

****** 

Closeted  behind  the  close-locked  doors  of  Fagan's 
upper  world,  Madame  Vaughn  sat  in  consultation  with 
the  mistress  of  the  place  at  the  time  appointed. 

"You  are  too  superstitious,  Fagan.  To  hear  you 
talk,  one  would  think  you  had  seen  a  combination  of 
black  cat  and  hen  to-day;  and  your  suspicions  about  the 


A  TRAGEDY  AT  MADAME^S  139 

girl  are  all  wrong.  S'he  will  never  care  enough  about 
you  to  make  an  attempt  to  see  this  place  again,  and  if 
she  did  see  it,  it's  so  much  like  a  thousand  others  that 
unless  she  took  the  number  she  couldn't  swear  to  it. 
Suppose  she  did;  she  doesn't  know  anything  else,  does 
she?" 

"No,  she  don't,  and  what's  more,  I  don't  propose 
that  she  shall.  She  is  going  out  of  here  asleep,  and  you 
may  have  the  pleasure  of  her  surprise  when  she  wakes 
up  at  your  place.  It  won't  hurt  her  a  bit,"  Fagan  pro 
tested,  as  Madame  seemed  to  object ;  "just  a  few  knock 
out  drops  in  a  cup  of  tea  about  bedtime,  then  they  can 
handle  her,  and  she'll  never  know  where  she  was  be 
fore  you  got  her." 

"All  right,  but  don't  hurt  her;  she's  costing  me  too 
much,"  the  Madame  urged,  as  she  took  a  well-filled  wal 
let  from  the  handbag.  "Two  hundred  for  the  girl,  and 
one-fifty  for  that  work  the  other  night."  She  held  the 
bills  in  her  hand,  while  Fagan  with  outstretched  arm 
and  wiggling  fingers  waited.  Madame  looked  squarely 
at  Fagan  and  said:  "You're  pulling  my  leg  in  great 
shape." 

"Oh,  cheese  it,  Vaughn,"  the  speaker's  arm  was 
stretched  to  the  limit,  "pulling  nothing.  Why,  if  I  had 
a  swell  joint  like  yours,  and  a  couple  of  panels  on  the 
side,  I'd  say  nothing  about  the  extracting  of  a  little  wad 
like  that  hurting — give  me  the  coin." 

Madame  counted  the  money  into  her  hostess'  hand 
without  further  comment  until  Fagan  said,  "Gee,  I'd  like 
to  have  your  roll." 

"You  ought  to  know  by  this  time  that  the  politicians 
and  police  take  three-fourths  of  all  we  get,"  Madame 
protested  hotly,  "and  damn  'em,  I'd  like  to  blow  'em 
sky  high." 

Madame  has  claws,  and  on  occasion  can  use  them  as 
well  as  her  tongue.  As  she  spoke  her  beautiful  fea 
tures  lost  for  the  moment  their  last  pleasant  curve  and 
her  eyes  shone  like  points  of  light  as  she  cursed  the 
guardians  of  our  public  morals  for  their  robbery  of  her 
treasure.  Some  day  she  hopes  to  repay  with  interest  all 
the  insults  and  petty  persecutions  she  has  suffered.  And 
as  each  day  adds  to  her  store  of  remembrances,  and 
each  day  also  brings  its  cross  of  smiles  and  wiles  with 


140  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

which  to  meet  those  who  take  the  lion's  share  of  her 
spoils,  this  beautiful-faced  queen  of  the  under  world 
is  being  shaped  into  an  instrument  of  vengeance  for  use 
upon  those  who  have  made  of  her  a  plaything  for  their 
pleasure  and  profit.  This  woman  is  dangerous,  all  up 
right  people  declare.  She  is.  Could  those  who  take  a 
salary  from  society  and  a  profit  from  vice  look  into  her 
eyes  as  she  curses  them  and  their  greed,  they,  too,  would 
declare  her  dangerous,  and  draw  but  little  comfort  from 
their  next  dividend  from  the  under  world.  Some  day 
the  Madame  may  refuse  to  pay  for  protection — what 
then?  Some  day  a  moral  spasm  may  strike  us  and  last 
more  than  a  month.  Madame's  old  red  brick  mansion 
and  the  panel  houses  may  be  raided,  for  good  and  all. 
Madame  in  court  is  almost  as  dangerous  to  some  of  our 
pillars  of  society  as  the  panel  houses  are  to  young  farm 
ers,  older  farmers  and  visiting  merchants,  and  others 
who  seek  the  by-paths  of  life  when  at  a  safe  distance 
from  their  loving  families. 

Pagan's  face  was  a  study  as  Madame  railed  against 
those  who  robbed  her.  Craft  and  cunning  marked  Fa- 
gan's  every  step  through  the  maze  in  which  such  busi 
ness  as  hers  must  be  transacted. 

"Don't  do  nothing  rash,  Isabelle.  Our  time  will  come. 
You  don't  need  to  think  I  have  been  facing  the  pen 
or  worse  these  five  years  without  having  something  up 
my  sleeve  for  the  goo-goos  if  it  comes  to  a  showdown, 
so  you  go  ahead  and  blow  them  up  when  you  get  every 
thing  fixed  and  rest  easy  about  my  being  in  on  it. 
I've  got  the  goods  on  enough  of  them,  and  got  it  down 
in  black  and  white,  to  turn  this  town  wrong  side  out. 
And  I'll  say  again,  as  I  have  many  a  time  before,  I'd 
enjoy  a  trip  down  the  canal  if  I  could  only  know  that 
some  of  the  men  I've  had  to  put  up  to  were  going  along. 
Say,  Isabelle,  if  just  you  and  I  could  get  into  all  the 
papers  tomorrow  morning  and  tell  the  good  folks  what 
we  know  about  things  in  this  town,  wouldn't  there  be 
a  bomb  dropped  into  high  life  that  would  put  the  an 
archists  and  gamblers  a  thousand  years  in  the  past?" 

The  Madame  laughed  and  the  beauty  curves  came  out 
upon  her  pretty  face  until  she  looked  as  good  as  a  saint 
at  prayer.  The  smile  faded  as  she  looked  at  Pagan. 
"Don't  look  at  me  that  way,  your  face  would  frighten  the 


A  TRAGEDY  AT  MADAMES  14! 

devil  himself,"  she  reached  across  the  table  and  tapped 
Pagan  on  the  arm,  "some  day  you'll  be  driven  a  little 
farther  than  usual,  and  you  won't  wake  up  till  'that  bomb 
of  yours  has  exploded.  No,  Fagan,"  she  went  on  ser 
iously,  "there's  nothing  for  us  but  to  play  the  game. 
We  play  the  game,  do  the  drudgery,  take  all  -the  abuse, 
and  in  the  end  go  to  'hell;  others  hold  all  the  marked 
cards,  'have  all  the  pleasure,  take  all  the  profit,  and  the 
preachers  tell  them  they  are  going  straight  to  'heaven." 
M'adame  Vaughn  arose  to  go.  "Cheer  up,  Fagan," 
she  said  in  parting,  "forget  the  bomb,  be  as  good  to 
•the  girls  as  you  can,  and  take  it  all  out  on  the  men.  Take 
the  last  cent  they  have  and  half  their  clothes;  they  de 
serve  it.  Of  course,"  she  added,  "they  get  the  swag 
away  from  us  somehow,  but  we  'have  this  satisfaction, 
they  are  all  men,  the  one  half  of  them  we  rob,  the  other 
half  rob  us,  the  first  are  fools  and  the  last  are  thieves — 
some  day  we  may  need  that  bomb,  but  not  soon.  Have 
the  girl  sent  up  on  time,  and  don't  you  dope  her  too 
heavy." 


CHAPTER   XX. 

"THEY'S  ONLY  ONE  WAY.'* 

The  door  of  Estella's  room  opened  and  "Red"  Kate 
entered.  Setting  a  tray  of  victuals  on  the  little  table 
she  turned  to  the  occupant  of  the  room : 

"There  you  are,  my  'beauty,  and  it's  a  better  breakfast 
than  any  of  us  'has  had  in  mondis,  and  by  Madame's 
orders  at  that." 

The  girl  lifted  her  face  from  the  pillow,  her  eyes 
red  and  swollen  from  weeping.  For  a  moment  Kate 
looked  at  her  in  silence,  while  something  of  terror  grew 
in  her  own  eyes.  "Girl,  girl,"  she  cried,  "if  you  don't 
want  to  have  me  murdered,  if  you  want  me  to  help  you, 
you  jist  got  to  quit  that  blubbering.  Why,  if  Fa — Mrs. 
Collins  was  to  come  in  and  see  you  in  that  fix  after  the 
con  talk  I've  give  her,  she'd  have  our  lives.  An'  if  she 
didn't  kill  me  she'd  at  least  give  you  the  same  dose 
some  of  the  others  git.  She  would,  by  God,  she  would !" 

The  frightened  girl  promised  to  dry  her  tears  and  be 
good,  promised  to  do  anything  Kate  directed  if  the  lat 
ter  would  only  say  fhat  there  was  no  other  way  out  of 
slavery. 

When  she  was  quieted  Kate  admonished  her  to  be 
careful  not  to  even  talk  above  an  ordinary  tone,  say 
ing:  "If  some  one  was  to  hear  you,  they'd  tell  her 
and  I'd  never  see  you  again  until  they'd  given  you  the 
'cure/  Now  don't  say  a  word,"  as  Estella  started  to 
interrupt.  "You  sit  down  in  that  chair  and  let  me  put 
you  next  to  the  way  Fagtan — there,  it's  out.  But  don't 
you  ever  breathe  that  name  until  you  hear  some  one 
else  use  it.  Pagan's  her  name,  and  all  the  other  names 
like  Mrs.  Collins  is  only  used  to  fool  the  folks  that 
might  look  for  the  girls  fhey  rope  in.  Don't  you  ever 
squeal  on  me,  or  they'd  kill  me." 

"I  won't,  Kate,  I  promise  that  whatever  they  may 
do  to  me  I  won't  tell  them  anything  you  say  to  me, 

142 


THEY'S  ONLY  ONE  WAY  143 

Bu't  won't  you  tell  me  just  what  that  awful  woman  has 
done  to  other  girls  ?  Then  I  will  know  the  worst,  and — 
and " 

"There,  there,  girl,  don't  go  off  into  no  more  cryin' 
spells  again,  or  our  jig's  up.  It  isn't  so  bad,  and  it 
won't  be  bad  at  all  if  you'll  only  do  as  I  want  you  to ; 
and  who  knows,  when  you  'have  friends  and  lots  of 
money  maybe  you  might  help  me  to  git  away,  too." 

"Oh,  I  will!  I  will!  God  knows  I  will!"  the  girl 
protested. 

Kate  smiled,  and  into  her  'heart  there  crept  a  long 
ing  she  had  thought  dead  years  before  she  met  Estella 
Davis.  With  a  sigh  she  resumed  the  conversation. 

"I  best  hurry  and  tell  you  about  this  crib,  then, 
an'  how  I  am  in  hopes  of  getting  you  out."  Then, 
thinking  of  the  untasted  breakfast  on  the  tray,  she  add 
ed  hastily.  "But  first  you  eat  your  breakfast — I'd  most 
forgot  that.  Then  I'll  come  up  -t*  git  the  things  and 
put  you  wise." 

"I  would  rather  talk  to  you  than  to  eat,"  Estella  in 
sisted. 

"But  I  can't  stay  long  at  a  time;  they's  spies  on 
every  floor;  you  eat  now,  and  when  I  come  back  I'll 
tell  you  in  a  jiffy." 

As  Estella  ate  a  light  breakfast,  s'he  'told  herself 
that  the  stolid-faced,  red-headed  drudge  was  'honest  in 
her  friendship  and  offer  of  help,  and  if  it  was  as  Kate 
had  said,  a  case  of  •choosing  not  her  own  way  but  a  path 
that  promised  freedom  in  the  end — well,  she  would 
listen  to  the  argument.  For  one  thing  she  was  done 
with  crying.  She  would  show  even  "Red"  Kate  that 
there  was  something  of  courage  in  her  make-up. 

When  Kate  returned  she  closed  the  door  and  locked 
it,  saying:  "Now,  Miss,  Pagan's  gone,  but  she  may 
be  back  any  minute,  so  I've  got  to  hump  myself  and 
put  you  next.  This  joint  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  worst 
in  town,  anyway  the  men  that  comes  here  says  it's  the 
limit.  Fagan  runs  three  or  four  places,  but  this  one  is 
the  only  place  where  they  bring  young  girls,  and  they 
come  regular — you  know  how  they  git  them,  I  don't. 

"You're  the  first  one  in  two  years  that  hasn't  jist 
literally  raised  all  kinds  of  hell — I  beg  your  pardon — 
but  they  sure  did.  They  screamed,  tore  their  hair, 


144  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

wouldn't  eat,  and  'then  mostly  went  into  the  sulks. 
First  off  they  wouldn't  eat,  and  done  a  lot  of  prayin'. 
Some  of  them  killed  their "  the  narrator  hesitated. 

"Killed  themselves  here!  Here  in  this  room?"  Es- 
tella's  shuddering  and  nervous  look  around,  alarmed 
Kate. 

"Land  sakes,  girl,  you  haven't  got  nothing  to  be 
afraid  of,"  she  declared  stoutly,  "if  them  poor  little 
critters  ever  does  come  back,  as  some  says,  it  won't 
•be  to  this  hell-hole — and  besides,  they  didn't  kill  their- 
selves  in  here  no  way." 

"How  many,  Kate,  and  where  did  they  do  it?"  Es- 
tella  clung  to  Kate's  arm,  wild-eyed  with  horror  of  it  all. 

"Three." 

"Three,  Kate?" 

"Yes,  three  killed  theirselves  where  we  used  to  keep 
'em,  since  I  come  here  two  years  ago.  And  one  big 
blonde  girl,  after  Fagan  thought  she  had  give  in,  kill 
ed  a  man  Fagan  sent  to  her.  No,  it  wasn't  on  this 
floor,  you  don't  need  to  look  around  like  that.  It  was 
on  the  floor  below.  You  see  the  girl  'had  gone  all  the 
stages  from  prayin'  to  fighting,  until  after  she's  been 
well  starved,  then  she  told  Fagan  she'd  put  on  the  dress 
and  go  down,  and  at  that  she  laughed  and  said  she 
wanted  a  good  dinner  first.  She  got  the  dinner,  and 
I  give  her  a  barh  and  fixed  her  out  in  the  regulation 
togs  and  sent  her  down.  I  remember  jist  as  well  as 
if  it  was  yesterday.  Fagan  stood  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  waitin'  for  her,  a  smiling  as  hard  as  she  could, 
for  the  girl  was  a  good  looker  and  Fagan  thought  she 
was  going  to  make  a  good  bunch  of  money  off  her. 
The  girl  went  up  and  throwed  her  arms  around  Fagan 
and  kissed  her  and  asked  where  the  bridegroom  was. 
Fagan  says  something  low  to  her,  lookin'  mighty  queer 
out  of  her  eyes,  and  sent  the  girl  into  the  back  parlor. 
Then  Fagan  went  to  the  front  parlor  where  this  man 
was.  He  came  out  and  she  pointed  out  the  back  parlor 
door.  He  was  a  good  lookin'  chap — I  thought  he  looked 
as  if  he'd  strayed  in  from  the  farm.  He  went  down 
the  hall,  me  watching  from  the  head  of  the  stairs.  He 
stopped  jist  a  minute,  then  opened  the  door  and  went 
in."  Kate  shuddered. 

"And  then " 


THEY  S  ONLY  ONE  WAY  145 

And  then — I  heard  such  a  scream,  and  three  blows, 
thud,  thud,  thud,  and  a  moan.  I  don't  know  how  I  got 
downstairs,  but  I  was  down  and  right  behind  Fagan 
when  she  ran  into  the  room.  Then,  before  you  could 
think,  that  crazy  girl  struck  Fagan  on  the  head  with  the 
bronze  figure  she  had  killed  the  man  with,  an*  Fagan 
fell  in  a  heap.  The  girl  jumped  back  and  thro  wed  that 
thing  all  covered  with  blood  at  us  w*ho  stood  •trembling 
in  the  door,  and  laughed  fit  to  kill.  The  next  minute 
•she  was  on  her  knees  stroking  the  man's  hair,  and  say 
ing  all  kinds  of  things  to  him.  Just  then  Gus,  that's 
the  bartender,  come  up  and  taking  her  by  the  arm  he 
lifts  her  up  and  tells  her  there's  a  lady  and  gentleman 
to  see  'her,  waiting  in  a  carriage  at  the  door,  and  asks 
won't  she  let  him  escort  her  down — she  got  up  laughing 
and  clapping  her  hands — I  ain't  seen  her  since." 

"And  the  man,  was  he  dead  ?" 

"Yes,  they  made  me  wash  the  blood  up  while  he 
was  laying  there — I  know  he  was  dead — 'they  took  him 
away  in  the  night,  like  they  does  all  the  rest.  And 
Fagan,  her  hair  saved  her;  but  lord,  she  had  a  splittin' 
'headache  for  days  after  they  brought  her  out  of  it. 

"Oh,  this  horrible,  horrible  house !"  The  girl  walk 
ed  the  length  of  the  room  wringing  her  hands  and  mur 
muring  a  prayer  for  the  green  fields  of  home,  now 
seemingly  in  another  world.  "Oh,  Kate!  how  -can  I 
get  away  from  it?  How  can  I?"  she  cried. 

"There's  only  one  way,"  came  the  answer. 


CHAPTER   XXL 

NORMA  JORDAN. 

The  morning  after  Madame  Vaughn's  visit  to  Pa 
gan's  street  place,  when  she  had  examined  Estella 

as  closely  as  the  average  slave  trader  was  wont  to  ex 
amine  his  purchase  of  black  humanity,  Estella  awoke 
in  a  strange  new  world. 

The  bright  flood  of  sunlight  that  a  girl  in  spotless 
cap  and  apron  let  in  through  the  great  east  window 
blinded  her  for  a  moment.  Where  was  she  ?  What  'had 
happened?  Could  it  be  a  dream,  this  beautiful  room. 
Never  in  all  her  castles  in  Spain  had  there  been  just 
such  a  room — it  could  not  be  a  dream.  She  let  her  eyes 
wander  over  the  walls  hung  with  beautiful  pictures,  to 
the  splendid  rug  upon  the  floor,  then  to  the  great  win 
dow  again,  then  up  to  the  penciled  ceiling  and  back  to 
the  bed.  Burying  her  face  in  the  downy  softness  of  the 
snowy  pillow  she  lay  for  a  time  trying  to  connect  this 
morning  with  the  past.  How  had  she  been  delivered 
from  the  house  of  horrors  and  that  awful  woman.  Peep 
ing  out  she  sought  the  figure  of  the  girl  to  assure  her 
self  that  it  was  all  real.  Compared  to  that  loathsome 
place  where  she  had  slept  only  when  weariness  of  mind 
and  body  had  overcome  her  repugnance  for  the  un 
clean  bed  upon  which  she  must  lie  or  choose  a  more 
filthy  floor,  this  was  heaven.  But  was  she  alive?  Sit 
ting  up  quickly  she  discovered  that  the  nightgown  she 
wore  was  in  itself  a  treasure,  loaded  with  real  lace  and 
ribbons,  but  cut  so  low  that  she  blushed  and  drew  it 
more  closely  about  her  shapely  shoulders  as  she  caught 
the  eyes  of  the  maid  upon  her. 

"Where  am  I"  she  asked. 

"In  your  own  room,  Miss  Jordan,  and  Madame 
Vaughn  asked  me  to  tell  her  the  moment  you  awoke,  so 
if  you  will  excuse  me — "  the  girl  was  gone. 

"Miss  Jordan;  I  wonder  what  she  meant.  What  in 
146 


NORMA  JORDAN  147 

the  world  could  have  happened  to  twist  her  face  up  in 
that  way?  She  looks  like  a  fright,  but  her  voice  is 
sweet,  and  her  smiles  break  through.  I  do  wonder  what 
can  have  happened  to  her."  Lying  back  among  fhe 
pillows,  her  hands  clasped  behind  her  head,  Estella  .gave 
herself  up  to  the  puzzle  of  it  all.  "How  did  they  bring 
•me  here,  and  when?"  she  asked  of  the  great  brass  bed. 
"Was  if  yesterday,  or  the  day  before?  Let  me  see,  I 
went  to  Pagan's  room  the  night  Madame  Vaughn  was 
there,  they  sent  me  away  with  Kate,  then  after  Madame 
had  left  Pagan  called  me  and  gave  me  a  cup  of  tea — and 
— yes,  they  must  have  drugged  me.  I  remember  just  as 
well,  Kate  whispered  to  me  as  she  helped  me  undress, 
'good-by,  don't  forget  me/  and  I  felt  so  queer." 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Jordan,  I  hope  you  enjoyed 
your  night's  rest?"  Madame  stood  in  the  doorway, 
playfully  shaking  a  finger  at  the  wondering  girl.  "You 
lazy  girl,"  she  scolded  and  smiled  as  she  entered  the 
room,  "it's  almost  noon  and  you  haven't  gotten  the 
sleep  out  of  your  pretty  eyes." 

Estella  looked  at  the  woman  wonderingly.  Could  it 
be  possible  that  this  smiling  lady,  clad  in  the  very  neatest 
of  house  gowns,  looking  at  her  as  her  own  -mother  used 
to,  and  in  this  beautiful  room — could  it  be  possible  that 
she  was  bad?  A  blus'h  answered  her  thought. 

"Do  you  like  your  room,  Miss  Jordan?" 

The  girl's  eyes  had  a  frightened  look  in  them  as  she 
asked  :  "What  did  you  call  -me  ?" 

"Oh,  just  a  pet  name  I  have  found  for  you  while  you 
stay  with  me — Norma  Jordan — don't  you  think  it's  a 
nice  name  ?"  Madame  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

"Am  I  not  to  have  my  own  name?" 

"Child,  you  couldn't  have  your  own  name,  don't  you 
understand?  Some  day  you  may  want  your  name  again 
and  the  only  way  to  keep  it  is  to  forget  it  now." 

Estella  played  with  the  lace  upon  her  sleeves  while 
she  sat  thinking  of  the  part  Kate  had  assigned  her,  and 
the  woman  looking  at  her  guessed  half  the  truth,  but 
withal  was  satisfied  with  her  bargain. 

"Why  did  Pagan — I  mean  Mrs.  Collins  drug  me?" 
was  her  first  question,  once  she  had  determined  upon  her 
attitude  toward  her  new  keeper. 


148  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"Where  did  you  get  that  name?"  Madame  asked 
sharply. 

"Oh,  I  wasn't  always  crying  at  Mrs. — at  Pagan's,"  she 
replied,  "you  see  there  were  lots  of  things  to  be  heard 
after  I  got  downstairs,"  with  a  wry  little  mouth  that 
ended  in  an  attempted  smile,  she  looked  into  Madame's 
eyes,  saying:  "Suppose  I  do  know  her,  what  does  it 
matter  so  long  as  I  am  Norma — Norma — what  was  it?" 

"Norma  Jordan." 

"Oh,  yes ;  it  is  a  pretty  name,  and  now  that  I  am  here 
in  this  beautiful  room,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  thank  both 
you  and  Fagan  for  having  brought  me  here  without  my 
being  put  to  the  inconvenience  of  doing  more  than  to 
drink  a  cup  of  tea — for  all  the  world  like  the  Arabian 
Nights  tales,  is  it  not?" 

Madame  laughed,  but  did  not  reply  to  the  question. 

"If  my  new  boarder  is  to  have  breakfast  today  it  is 
time  she  were  up;  and  besides,  I  have  some  gowns  in 
the  closet  over  there,  which  I  had  thought  to  loan  you 
until  you  can  take  money  enough  out  of  your  stocking 
to  buy  a  new " 

"What  do  you — "  Estella  almost  added,  "mean  by 
money  out  of  my  stocking?"  but  checked  herself,  and 
after  a  painful  pause  asked:  "Didn't  they  send  my 
clothes  and  money?  Fagan  promised  me  she  would 
give  all  my  things  back." 

"Not  on  your  life!"  the  Madame  exclaimed,  and 
went  on :  "While  we  are  on  that  subject  I  might  just  as 
well  tell  you  that  we  have  to  protect  ourselves,  and  for 
that  reason  you  will  probably  never  see  a  stitch  of  the 
clothes  or  anything  else  you  brought  to  the  city  with  you, 
but  you  need  not  worry,"  she  added  kindly,  "you  won't 
want  for  anything  as  long  as  you  board  with  me." 

"Thanks,"  the  new  Miss  Jordan  'murmured  in  a  low 
voice,  "I  believe  I  will  get  up  now." 

"Very  well,"  Madame  went  to  the  doorway  and 
called  the  maid,  saying  to  the  new  boarder,  "the  girl  will 
help  you  dress,  and  you  will  find  all  you  need  in  the 
wardrobe  in  that  closet,  if  they  need  altering  the  girl  can 
do  that  too.  Tomorrow  will  be  time  enough  for  us  to 
talk  business ;  good  morning." 

The  owner  of  a  new  name  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed 
seriously  regarding  the  ends  of  her  pink  toes,  and  repeat- 


NORMA  JORDAN  149 

ing  over  and  over :  "Tomorrow  we  will  talk  business, 
tomorrow  we  will  talk  business,"  when  a  timid  knock 
sounded  through  the  room  and  brought  her  back  to  the 
present  moment  and  its  immediate  problems. 

"Come  in,"  she  invited  the  invisible  one,  as  in  fas 
cination  she  centered  her  gaze  upon  the  opening  door. 
Would  it  be  that  strange  girl  ?  Yes,  it  was  she.  Norma 
Jordan's  eyes  dropped  under  the  eager  look  of  the  girl. 

Future  perils  could  not  entirely  destroy  the  pleasure 
Norma  Jordan  found  in  trying  on  the  gowns  the  maid 
brought  from  the  wardrobe,  once  breakfast  had  been  dis 
posed  of.  The  maid  was  an  artist  and  seemed  to  lose 
herself  and  all  memory  of  the  past  as  she  fitted  Norma 
out  with  all  the  good  things  that  had  been  allotted  to  her. 

"Myrt's  clothes  seem  to  have  been  made  for  you," 
she  told  Norma  while  they  were  working  on  a  beauti 
ful  evening  gown,  preparatory  to  Norma's  trying  it  on. 

"And  who's  Myrt?" 

The  girl  looked  at  Norma  long  and  earnestly,  won 
dering  if  she  dared  tell  the  new  boarder  the  truth.  Her 
scrutiny  convinced  her  that  it  would  be  dangerous.  The 
girl  before  her  might  be  a  hardened  sinner,  but  if  stie 
was,  her  face,  her  modesty,  her  every  movement,  pro 
claimed  the  very  opposite. 

"Who  is  Myrt  ?"  the  question  was  repeated. 

"Oh,"  the  maid  answered,  "she  was  one  of  us  up  to — 
up  to  a  week  ago,  then  she  went  away  with  her  brother 
and — and  left — left  these  clothes  and  things  for — for — 
oh,  my  God !  my  God !"  Sobbing  as  though  her  heart 
would  break,  she  fell  at  Norma's  feet. 

"What  is  it,  May,"  on  her  knees  beside  the  weeping 
girl  Norma  begged  her  to  tell  what  sorrow  was  upon 
her.  "Tell  me,"  she  pleaded,  "I  have  grown  old  enough 
in  one  week  to  be  trusted,  tell  me."  Her  pleading  availed 
not  until  the  storm  had  spent  itself,  then  May  told  her 
as  much  of  the  truth  as  she  dared. 

"It  was  just  as  I  said,  Norma ;  she  went  away.  Her 
brother  came  and  she  went  with  him.  I  am  a  fool, 
Norma ;  and  fools  havo  no  place  in  this  world,  much  less 
in  such  a  place  as  this.  But  she  was  so  good  to  me,  so 
good  and  brave,  and  suffered  so.  She  was  here  a  year, 
and  in  all  that  time  she  never  uttered  a  cross  word — and 
Norma,  I've  never  been  in  this  room  since  she  went 


I5O  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

away  until  they  brought  you  here."  She  looked  about 
her,  unspeakable  terror  in  her  eyes. '  "Don't  tell  them 
I  said  anything  about  her — please  don't — I'll  do  anything 
for  you  if  you  will  promise." 

"Promise,  why,  you  goose,  of  course  I'll  promise. 
What  does  it  matter?"  she  laughed,  and  the  hard  notes 
that  come  only  from  the  lips  of  those  who  have  given 
over  the  struggle,  sounded  for  the  first  time  from  her 
sweet  lips.  "It's  all  mystery  and  intrigue,"  she  went  on, 
"and  I  am  in  the  web.  I've  sold  myself  for  the  right 
to  live,  to  eat,  to  breathe — why  should  I  either  pry  into 
things  the  knowing  of  which  would  not  help  me,  or  with 
hold  a  promise  that  will  help  you?  No,  May,  you  and  I 
are  to  be  the  very  best  of  friends — let  me  make  up  to 
you  for  the  loss  of  Myrt."  She  caught  the  girl  in  her 
strong  young  arms  and  kissed  her  disfigured  lips.  "There, 
and  there,"  she  exclaimed  with  each  kiss,  "now  dry  your 
eyes,  and  I  will  get  into  this  beautiful  gown;  it  must 
have  cost  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  dollars." 

The  girl  released,  staggered  to  a  seat  by  the  great 
east  window,  and  laying  her  head  against  the  back  of 
the  chair,  sobbed  in  utter  abandon  to  the  heartbreak  that 
gripped  her. 

Madame  Vaughn,  entering,  caught  sight  of  the  sob 
bing  girl  and  turned  quickly  to  Norma,  who  was  stand 
ing  in  the  center  of  the  room,  the  evening  gown  in  her 
trembling  hands.  The  red  of  anger  mounted  to  Madame's 
painted  cheeks  as  this  question  thrust  itself  upon  her : 
"What  had  the  girl  told  Norma?"  Madame  knew  May's 
love  for  the  murdered  girl. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  she  demanded,  striding 
toward  the  girl,  who,  at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  had' 
vainly  tried  to  subdue  her  emotions. 

For  a  moment  Norma  was  at  a  loss  how  to  save  her 
maid  from  Madame's  anger.  Madame  had  reached  the 
huddled  figure,  her  hand  outstretched. 

"Let  her  alone,"  Norma's  lips  again  gave  forth  that 
metallic  note  of  laughter.  As  the  Madame  turned  to  her, 
she  explained:  "It's  my  fault  she's  crying — I  scolded 
her  because  she  was  awkward  with  my  clothes."  De 
liberately  walking  to  the  chair,  she  shook  the  sobbing 
girl  saying:  "Come,  you  little  goose,  you've  cried  quite 
enough  over  nothing,  now  help  me  into  this  gown." 


NORM  A  JORDAN  15! 

The  Madame,  smiling,  turned  to  leave  the  room,  when 
Norm-a  called  to  her  from  within  the  folds  of  the  gown, 
"Wait  a  minute,  Madame  Vaughn,  I  want  you  to  see  me 
in  this  gown." 

"A  perfect  picture!"  Madame  exclaimed,  as  Norma 
stood  before  her  in  all  the  bravery  of  Myrt's  dress. 
"You'll  have  no  one  but  yourself  to  blame,"  she  added, 
"if  you  don't  have  a  wad  as  big  as  my  arm  inside  of  a 
year,"  Norma  blushed  and  looked  away,  "and  that 
blush,"  Madame  declared,  "is  worth  a  million.  I  never 
had  but  one  girl  here  who  could  blush  like  that,  and  do 
it  to  order;  she's  in  Paris  now  in  a  mansion,  with  I 
don't  know  how  many  servants,  and  only  one  old  mil 
lionaire  to  please,  unless,"  she  added,  laughing,  "she 
wants  to  please  herself." 

Madame  patted  the  blushing  Norma  on  the  cheek, 
and  whispered :  "You  will  have  my  other  'boarders 
crazy  with  jealousy,  Norma — and  if  there  is  anything 
they  have  that  you  want,  just  look  at  it;  you  won't  have 
to  whistle  to  it,  or  even  crook  your  finger."  Then,  with 
out  so  much  as  a  look  in  the  direction  of  May,  she  quitted 
the  room. 

"You  are  an  angel,  Norma !  an  angel !"  the  maid  in 
sisted  as  soon  as  Madame  was  out  of  the  room.  "Yes 
you  are,"  she  affirmed  as  Norma  denied  'the  insinuation. 
May  stood  looking  into  the  brown  eyes  of  her  mistress, 
her  poor  disfigured  face  working  strangely.  "You  are 
an  angel,"  she  insisted,  "you  kissed  me,  and  lied  to  save 
me  from  Madame's  anger — and  she  can  be  so  cruel,"  she 
added  with  a  shudder. 

Norma  looked  at  the  girl,  yet  did  not  see  her.  Won 
dering  what  tragedy  lay  behind  that  face ;  what  poverty 
of  love  she  must  have  suffered  in  her  life  to  prize  so 
highly  a  girl's  kiss.  Dare  she  ask?  No.  Not  now  at 
any  rate.  She  would  not  burden  the  sore-hearted  girl 
with  a  single  question,  instead  she  took  her  in  her  arms 
again  and  kissed  her,  while  their  tears  mingled  and  each 
knew  without  words  the  heart  of  the  other. 

When  May  had  left  the  room  and  gone  about  the 
work  she  had  neglected  while  preparing  this  new  sacri 
fice  for  the  altar  of  lust,  her  heart  was  rent  with  con 
flict—she,  the  drudge  at  Madame  Vaughn's,  as  "Red" 
Kate  was  at  Pagan's,  had  found  a  friend,  and  she  be- 


152  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

lieved  that  friend  as  pure  and  sweet  as  the  dew  new  fal 
len  upon  the  rose.  Her  heart  bled  for  the  girl  in  that 
beautiful  room  upstairs — "bled  for  her,  but  to  what  avail  ? 
What  power  had  she  to  reach  up  with  her  prayers  to 
either  man-made  gods,  or  God-made  men? 

In  her  luxurious  room  Norma  Jordan  surveyed  her 
self  in  the  mirror.  "So  you  are  Norma  Jordan  are  you?'' 
she  asked  the  girl  in  the  glass.  "Not  long  ago  you  were 
some  other  body."  Slowly,  as  she  looked  at  the  beau 
tiful  gown,  terror  crept  upon  her.  Turning  from  the  mir 
ror,  she  fled  to  the  bed ;  there  upon  her  knees  she  sobbed 
out  a  prayer  for  help. 

In  her  hour  of  agony,  the  very  clothing  upon  her 
body,  the  vain  trappings  she  had  fondled  but  a  little 
time  before,  became  hateful  to  her.  Wildly  she  ran  about 
the  gilded  cage.  Searching  in  every  'Corner  of  the  ward 
robe,  bath,  and  the  great  room  itself,  the  girl  sought 
something  with  which  to  clothe  herself  aside  from  the 
things  Madame  had  provided,  the  shimmering,  clinging 
garments  of  dishonor.  Even  the  clothes  she  had  worn 
when  taken  from  Pagan's  had  been  removed  and  she  was 
left  with  nothing  other  than  the  wardrobe  furnished  by 
tihe  house.  Heartsick  with  the  sense  of  her  shame,  her 
helplessness,  she  cried  out  that  God  would  forgive  her 
if  she  refused  to  live. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

MADAME  TALKS  BUSINESS. 

Madame  went  up  to  talk  "business"  to  her  new 
boarder.  Norma  was  low  spirited,  but  she  determined 
that  her  bravery,  to  the  last  shred,  should  serve  her 
where  tears  were  in  vain.  Madame  had  talked  long  be 
fore  she  had  come  to  the  meat  of  her  visit. 

"One  of  our  best  young  men  (how  she  lingered  over 
the  title)  called  me  over  the  phone  this  morning  from  his 
club,  and  wanted  to  know  whether  we  could  entertain 
him  tonight.  He's  of  good  family  and  a  great  spender. 
I  am  going  to  give  him  to  you.  You  don't  need  to  be 
afraid  to  ask  him  for  anything  you  want  if  you  please 
him,  and  I  don't  see  how  you  can  help  doing  that — he'll 
go  the  limit."  Her  eyes  devoured  the  beauty  of  the  girl 
before  her  greedily.  Here  was  promise  of  much  gain — 
that  superb  body,  those  great  brown  eyes,  that  sweet 
warm  skin  with  its  new  bloom  of  womanhood.  Madame 
would  put  no  heavy  task  upon  this  fresh  young  beauty. 
If  she  but  pleased  this  millionaire's  son  there  would  be 
enough  of  gain.  While  Madame  feasted  upon  antici 
pated  profits,  the  girl's  thoughts  centered  in  this  young 
man  of  good  family.  Could  she  play  her  part  until  they 
were  alone,  then  throw  herself  on  his  mercy,  and  in  the 
name  of  womanhood  and  innocence,  induce  him  to  give 
her  back  to  her  people.  It  is  the  only  way,  the  only  way, 
her  conscience  told  her,  while  her  lips  formed  the  words : 
"Is  he  really  of  good  family?" 

"The  best  ever,  swell  people,  and  only  two  children ; 
this  young  man  and  a  sister." 

So  he  had  a  sister;  that  was  well;  s'he  would  have 
another  hold  upon  him ;  a  strong  hold  upon  his  manhood. 
"When  is  he  coming  ?"  Norma  questioned,  her  heart  beats 
almost  choking  her. 

"Tonight  at  9  o'clock.  You  will  meet  him  in  the 
parlor — w'hat  follows  is  in  your  own  hands."  Norma 

153 


154  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

offered  up  a  prayer  that  this  might  be  true.  "I'll  send 
May  up  for  you  when  he  comes/'  Madame  announced 
from  the  door  as  she  departed. 

Norma  Jordan  stood  at  the  great  east  window  while 
the  sun  built  fires  in  a  thousand  windows  in  the  east. 
Her  heart  sobbed  but  tears  did  not  come  to  dim  the 
strange  luster  of  her  eyes,  as  she  prayed  for  strength  to 
overcome  this  man.  Could  s'he  have  know  how  every 
weapon  she  held  would  but  add  zest  to  the  oncoming 
enemy's  struggle  to  possess  her,  she  would  have  fallen 
there'as  the  sun  went  down  into  the  great  west. 

Laughter  and  song  are  at  their  height  in  the  parlors 
of  the  old  red  brick  mansion  as  the  son  of  a  good  fam 
ily  is  ushered  in. 

Before  he  came  there  were  three  men  in  faultless 
dress  enjoying  the  society  of  Madame's  daughters  in  the 
parlors.  I  shall  give  you  an  introduction. 

Here,  a  man  of  forty,  showing  bald  upon  the  crown, 
holds  a  painted  beauty  upon  his  knee  and  kisses  her 
while  trying  to  mimic  the  antics  of  the  young  who  are 
fast  held  by  chains  they  do  not  care  to  break,  in  the 
lurid  land  of  puppy  love.  The  woman  older  than  her 
girlish  garb  and  labored  over  cheeks  by  full  ten  years, 
feeds  this  esteemed  father's  infatuation  by  every  trick 
learned  in  the  seduction  of  real  youth — and  wins. 

Upon  a  great,  fat  davenport  in  that  arched  corner, 
a  mere  boy  sits,  half  hidden  by  the  voluptuous  being  who 
has  set  herself  the  task  of  sucking  the  youth  and  sweet 
ness  out  of  his  life. 

This  youth  has  not  passed  his  eighteenth  birthday; 
his  fond  parents  imagine  he  is  at  the  Eagle  Club,  ming 
ling  with  our  men  of  affairs,  and  there  imbibing  a  lik 
ing  for  the  steady  grind  of  business  life  from  the  men  of 
means  whose  names  grace  the  register  of  the  Eagle.  In 
stead,  he  has  learned  to  drain  his  glass  with  a  toper  for 
a  running  mate;  to  take  a  quiet  hand  with  card  sharp 
as  guide,  to  play  the  ponies  under  advice  from  a  well 
groomed  piker;  to  look  upon  woman  as  fair  game,  with 
an  instructor  at  his  elbow  who  gains  half  his  income  from 
those  who  profit  from  the  downfall  of  our  gilded  youth. 

Here  is  a  sample  product  of  the  Eagle.  This  boy, 
born  to  the  purple  of  wealth,  with  all  the  world  may 
give  of  opportunity,  is  to  be  robbed  tonight  of  the  one 


MADAME  TALKS   BUSINESS  155 

thing  neither  wealth  nor  prayer  may  restore  to  him; 
and  all  because  the  woman  was  first  robbed.  What  dif 
ference  whether  you  looted  her  treasure  of  its  priceless 
jewels  yesterday,  last  year,  or  years  ago?  She  will  re 
pay  society  to-night — you  shall  have  a  stench  of  filth, 
decay,  disease,  and  death  so  long  as  the  first  crime  com 
mitted  against  this  woman  goes  unavenged. 

In  'her  room  but  a  moment  ago  this  piece  of  Eve's 
flesh,  standing  before  her  dressing-table,  laying  on  the 
bloom  of  youth  to  hide  the  scars  of  dissipation,  turned 
to  the  girl  who  sat  idly  watching  her. 

"Aggie,"  said  she,  "Little  Willie  is  here  again — 
Madame  just  sent  word  before  you  came  in."  Her  pout 
ing  lips  drew  back  from  the  even  white  teeth  in  a  snarl, 
as  she  continued :  "I'll  get  him  to-night  or " 

"Better  turn  him  over  to  me,  Helen,"  the  other  ban 
tered,  "I  never  had  to  work  my  rabbit  foot  overtime 
on  a  kid  yet,  and  you've  been  a  month  trying  to  get 
your  Little  Willie  upstairs." 

"Don't  you  worry;  he  comes  to-night  if  I  have  to 
carry  him !"  the  other  replied. 

''Well,  he's  a  payer  all  right,  all  right,"  the  visitor 
giggled.  "When  he  slipped  that  fifty  into  your  sock 
the  other  night  I  thought  I'd  have  a  spasm — he  blushed 
and  stammered  like  a  school  kid.  Say,  either  he's  the 
limit  or  you've  lost  your  grip.  You've  had  him  a  month 
and  haven't  been  able  to  cure  him  of  blushing." 

"Cut  all  that,  Ag.  I  land  him  to-night,  I  tell  you !  I 
haven't  lost  my  grip.  I  could  have  had  him  up  here 
the  first  night  if  Madame  hadn't  cautioned  me  to  go 
slow  and  draw  him  on  gradually.  When  you  know  as 
much  about  this  game  as  Madame  does,  you  will  not 
judge  the  stakes  until  the  last  hand  is  played  out.  When 
this  kid  came  out  here  the  first  time  he  was  straight 
from  his  mother's  arms;  never  had  done  more  than  put 
his  arms  around  some  nice  little  girl  and  tickle  him 
self  to  death  with  a  hug."  Aggie  laughed,  and  this  in 
structor  of  youth  smiled  at  her  own  wit.  "Jiggs  sent 
word  to  Madame  that  he  had  landed  this  kid — that  he 
was  good  enough  to  eat,  and  for  us  to  cut  out  all  horse 
play  until  we  got  him  good  and  hungry." 

"Think  he's  hungry  to-night?"  Aggie  asked. 

"Bet  your  last  coin.    What  have  I  been  doing  for  a 


156  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

month?  Just  as  nice,  and  getting  a  little  bit  freer  each 
time — and  money!  Say,  that  kid  William  of  mine  don't 
know  the  value  of  a  million  dollars!  He's  put  up  close 
to  three  hundred  bucks  in  the  last  month  just  to  be 
tickled." 

Her  toilet  finished,  all  that  art  and  nature  might  do 
to  take  away  man's  reason  and  leave  him  a  doddering 
idiot  in  the  grasp  of  this  wanton  of  the  under  world 
had  been  accomplished. 

"For  God's  sake  let  up,"  Aggie  shrieked,  "you  make 
me  tired — and  Little  Willie  will  be  crying  his  eyes  out. 
Go  on  down  and  get  busy." 

The  woman  before  the  mirror  knew  the  rest  of 
Madame's  daughters  and  nieces  envied  her.  None  of 
them  dared  challenge  girlhood  in  their  acting.  She 
alone  of  the  six  was  a  perfect  decoy,  when  made  up, 
and  she  gloried  in  her  ability  to  put  on  the  vestments 
of  youth  and  lead  the  young  into  the  debauchery  from 
which  Madame  so  largely  profited. 

"You  clear  out.  I  may  have  him  up  here  to  look  at 
my  photographs  and  fancy  work  in  ten  minutes,"  a 
sneer  upon  her  lips  exposed  again  that  pearly  setting  of 
even,  white  teeth,  "and  his  mother  and  all  the  rest  of 
them  will  never  be  able  to  take  him  away  from  me  un 
til  I  am  done  with  him " 

"Until  Madame  is  done  with  him,"  the  other 
laughed. 

Upon  the  fat  davenport  a  youth  has  let  go  of  him 
self,  and  in  a  sudden  outburst  of  passion,  well  fed  for 
a  month,  has  smothered  this  perfumed  counterfeit  with 
kisses  and  caresses.  She  hides  her  face  on  his  bosom 
and  smiles  in  triumph,  while  he,  poor  fool,  imagines  her 
weeping — imagines  himself  a  conqueror.  Her  white  arms 
encircle  his  neck ;  she  lifts  her  face  a  little — she  dare  not 
•trust  her  eyes,  the  gleam  of  hell's  total  of  rejoicing  she 
may  not  hide — she  whispers  to  him — her  head  falls  back 
to  its  resting  place  a  moment,  and  they  are  gone. 

Hidden  by  a  costly  screen  on  the  other  side  of  this 
wide  parlor,  once  the  gathering  place  of  men  and  women 
who  in  ignorance  sowed  the  seed  of  corruption  in  our 
social  state,  a  woman  sits  at  the  piano.  At  her  side 


MADAME  TALKS  BUSINESS  157 

stands  a  paunchy  little  man,  under  whose  eyes  the  sacs 
of  decay  bag  out  and  hang  over  full  cheeks. 

This  man  holds  a  place  in  the  world  of  business; 
supports  two  mansions,  one  woman,  a  wife  ?.nd  family, 
yet  finds  time  to  spend  a  night  at  Madame  \  aughn's  oc 
casionally.  Even  the  cub  reporters  on  our  dailies  know 
the  unsavory  history  of  tfhis  podgy  little  sac-eyed  gen 
tleman.  To  expose  him,  and  bring  about  his  ears  the 
house  of  cards  he  has  builded — what  a  scoop!  Then 
what  prevents? 

The  great  hall  clock  ticks  out  the  reason  in  its  "dol 
lars  and  cents/'  "dollars  and  cents,"  "dollars  and  cents." 

This  man's  son,  one  of  the  young  princes  of  our  rot 
ting  aristocracy  of,  dollars,  was  shot  in  a  resort,  the 
counterpart  of  Madame's  old  red  brick  mansion,  but  a 
few  months  ago.  The  newspapers  of  our  city  knew 
the  story — knew  that  this  young  man,  wounded  fatally, 
was  wrapped  in  a  blanket,  carried  to  a  cab  and  taken  to 
the  place  the  world  knew  as  his  home.  Wife  and  child 
saw  him  die ;  a  truthful  press — agent  of  virtue — defend 
er  of  the  American  home — suppressed  the  truth,  giving 
the  world  a  story  of  accidental  shooting,  a  story  so  ab 
surd  that  even  the  ignorant  complained  of  its  unreason 
ableness.  Why?  Why?  Why?  You  ask  and  ask 
again,  and  again  the  hall  clock  answers:  "Dollars  and 
cents,"  "dollars  and  cents,"  "dollars  and  cents." 

The  woman  idly  drumming  upon  the  ivory  keys 
while  this  podgy  citizen  devours  her  with  his  sac-bal 
conied  eyes,  deserves  a  word. 

Of  regal  height  and  well  preserved,  to  look  upon  her 
without  looking  deep  into  her  eyes  is  to  miss  -the  wom 
an  and  see  but  the  shell.  In  her  eyes  of  changing  gray 
a  tragedy  is  written,  and  back,  back  behind  the  curtain 
present  thought  lets  down,  her  tragedy  lives  and  feeds, 
and  grows  and  rends.  Just  now  she  has  lifted  the  cur 
tain  ;  forgetful  of  the  man  her  mind  is  going  back  over 
the  years  of  sacrifice — back  to  the  sunny  brooks  of  girl 
hood,  then  forward  again  to  that  first  mad  day — strug 
gle,  temptation,  yielding;  pride,  passion,  repentance;  all 
passing  and  repassing  before  the  eyes  of  the  woman  idly 
drumming  on  the  ivory  keys,  and  her  heart  cries  out 
that  she  may  be  spared  the  fate  of  the  rear-guard  of  the 
long  procession  of  her  sisters.  Back  there,  where  the 


158  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

clouds  hover,  where  falls  the  stinging  lash,  the  weak 
ones  stagger  along  under  their  burdens  of  disease, 
while  from  their  rotting  bodies  pollution  of  the  social 
stream  becomes  more  and  more  a  danger  to  all.  "Spare 
me  that !"  she  cries  in  her  heart,  and  bends  still  lower 
over  the  ivory  keys,  as  she  sees  a  woman  in  the  front 
rank,  where  wealth  fawns,  suddenly  fall  by  the  wayside 
— "Spare  me  that!"  On  either  side  of  this  broad  high 
way  where  the  women  of  sin  must  take  their  way  to 
ward  the  land  of  To-morrow,  her  eyes  behold  a  kneel 
ing  army  of  Christians,  too  pious  to  lift  their  eyes  to 
the  struggling  mass  of  prostituted  women  in  the  high 
way.  They  are  bowed  in  prayer,  and  heed  not  the  cries 
of  pain  as  the  lash  cuts  the  quivering  flesh.  They 
are  content  to  pray,  to  weep  a  little,  and  greatly  to  con 
demn,  while  the  giant  hand  of  greed  wields  the  whip 
lash  of  a  hundred  hungers,  and  the  army  of  the  fallen 
staggers,  cursing,  mocking,  gibbering,  to  its  doom. 

All  of  this  lies  back  of  this  woman's  eyes.  The  man 
beside  her  asks  for  a  song,  and  as  she  bends  to  seek 
the  music,  his  puffed  and  stubby  fingers  fall  upon  her 
neck;  she  shrinks  from  the  contact;  then  remembering 
her  part,  braces  her  body  and  turns  her  head  to  smile — 
the  hand  passes  down,  down  over  her  shoulder  and  is 
hidden.  The  music  is  found,  she  straightens  up,  the 
man  steps  back.  Touching  a  bell  upon  an  onyx  stand  he 
waits.  The  woman  begins  the  interlude,  smiling  so 
sweetly  at  him  that  her  mastery  of  the  art  seems  per 
fect. 

Be  careful  there.  You  of  the  many  millions,  with 
wealth  and  slaves  and  playthings.  This  woman  may 
go  mad,  stark,  staring  mad,  to-night — to-morrow.  Her 
racked  body  and  tortured  nerves,  the  tragedy  of  her 
life,  this  vision  of  your  praying  multitudes  calling  to  a 
faraway  God  as  they  line  the  great  highway  and  listen 
to  the  fall  of  the  lash — all  of  these  have  combined  to 
plant  madness  in  her  blood.  To-night  she  may  take  your 
life,  as  your  son's  life  was  taken,  by  one  like  her.  Be 
ware! 

The  song  ends — the  singer  swings  upon  the  stool— 
the  podgy  man  of  millions  claps  his  puffy  hands  and 
cries  "Brava !  brava !  That  WLS  a  corker !  Give  us 
another,  sweetheart." 


MADAME   TALKS  BUSINESS  159 

Behind  him  a  boy  of  twelve — did  I  say  a  boy  of 
twelve?  Yes,  a  boy  of  twelve  years,  crammed  with 
crime  enough  to  contaminate  the  keeper  of  heaven's 
gate,  stands  waiting. 

"Oh,  the  bellhop."  Slowly  this  man  draws  a  roll  of 
bills  from  a  vest  pocket.  "I  counted  'em,  my  charmer," 
he  snickers,  tapping  the  woman  on  the  cheek  with 
the  roll.  Unfolding  the  bills  he  lays  one  upon  the  tray. 
"Tell  Madame  to  give  me  a  call  at  8:30,  and  take  up 
a  basket  of  the  same  I  had  last  time  to " 

"He  knows,"  the  woman  nodded  and  turns  to  the 
piano. 

In  a  cozy  corner,  beneath  an  iron-girted  lamp,  cast 
ing  soft  lights  on  a  table  at  which  sits  a  man  ill  at  ease 
and  a  woman  struggling  to  hide  her  passion,  another 
tragedy  is  working  out.  In  setting  our  stage  let  us  see 
what  part  is  here  in  the  playing. 

At  the  Eagle  Club,  two  hours  ago,  Jack  Masters 
met  his  friend  and  begged  him  to  go  out  to  Madame 
Vaughn's  and  explain  to  Emma  the  reasons  back  of 
his  neglect  for  a  week  past.  This  man  at  the  table  de 
murred,  protested,  explained,  proposed  a  compromise, 
but  finally  yielded  because  he  was  a  friend  indeed. 

As  he  sits  looking  into  the  eyes  of  the  woman,  he 
knows  why  Jack  found  so  many  excuses  for  not  want 
ing  to  see  her,  yet  insisted  that  some  one  must  see  her 
forthwith. 

Beautiful,  with  that  strange  dark  beauty  of  the  Old 
South — a  skin  full  of  fire — eyes  that  burn,  and  melt, 
and  burn  again — lips  as  ripe  as  cherries,  and  as  red — 
wide,  arching  brows  supporting  a  broad  forehead 
crowned  with  a  wealth  of  glorious  black  hair — and  this 
but  half  the  picture.  From  the  tips  of  her  pink  lobed 
ears  to  the  laces  that  but  half  hide  her  swelling  breasts, 
the  smooth  soft  skin  covers  a  perfection  of  curves.  Her 
eyes  to-night  are  more  than  black.  Metallic  points  of 
light  play  in  their  depths.  She  scorns  the  man  who 
seeks  to  tell  of  a  lover's  unfaith.  And  he  reads  in  those 
eyes  more  than  warrant  for  his  instant  death  did  this 
queenly  beauty  but  hold  the  power. 

"To  send  a  stranger  to  me!    To  insult  me  so!    Oh, 


I6O  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

I  will  not  bear  it!  I  will  not!  I  will  not!"  Her  voice 
is  low,  so  low,  but  the  man  is  not  deceived. 

"But  he  just  didn't  dare  to  come — Miss — Miss " 

"Emma,"  she  whispered. 

"Miss  Emma,"  he  couldn't  come  because " 

"He  preferred  to  send  a  stranger,"  she  interrupted, 
scornfully;  "and  it  is  all  of  a  week  since  he  has  been 
here ;  already  Madame  is  asking " 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  the  man  assured  her;  "here's 
an  even  hundred  Jack  sent  out;"  he  laid  the  money  on 
the  table  before  her. 

"Take  it  to  him ;  I  cannot  touch — "  her  head  fell. 
What  choice  had  she?  If  she  would  be  true  to  this 
man  she  must  take  his  money;  Madame  must  be  paid. 

"Oh,  God !"  she  protested  while  thrusting  the  money 
into  her  bosom.  The  man  in  pitying  her  began  to  de 
spise  the  friend  who  had  sent  him  on  this  mission. 

"Why  did  he  send  you,  a  man  I  had  never  seen?" 
she  demanded.  "Does  he  look  upon  me  as  a  woman  of 
the  town?"  The  man  winced,  but  decided  that  the  only 
way  out  was  for  him  to  put  up  the  best  story  he  could 
— and  God  pity  Jack  when  they  meet  again. 

"Oh,  no,  not  that,  I  assure  you.  He's  in  a  beastly 
hole — you  see  his  father  saw  you  two  last  week,  and  put 
a  detective  on  the  scent  after  Jack  had  lied  like  a  thief 
to  shield  you." 

"To  shield  me."  She  clinched  her  hands  until  the 
tips  of  her  fingers  went  white.  "Go  on.  So  long  as  I 
have  let  you  begin,  you  may  as  well  make  an  end  of 
it." 

"Well,  he  put  the  detective  on  the  scent  as  I  said. 
He  shadowed  you  and  reported.  The  old  man  cornered 
Jack  and  brought  the  detective  out  to  confront  him. 
Jack  confessed,  and — and  the  old  man  gave  him  the 
choice  of  throwing  you  over  or  being  kicked  out  with 
out  a  cent " 

"And  he  has  decided?"  The  woman  stood  over  him 
her  eyes  ablaze.  "He  has  decided  to  throw  me  over  and 
save  the  dollars?"  Her  hand  upon  his  arm  made  him 
wince. 

"No,"  he  hesitated.  "No,  not  that ;  but  so  long  as 
liis  father  has  a  man  hired  to  watch  him  it  would  be 
suicidal  for  him  to  break  his  word." 


MADAME  TALKS  BUSINESS  l6l 

"Break  his  word?  Oh,  God!  He  break  his  word!" 
She  turned  away  from  him  to  hide  the  agony  of  shame 
that  tortured  her.  Standing  thus  she  asked: 

"Sir,  do  you  know  when  he  first  learned  to  lie — to 
break  his  word — do  you  know  when  he  committed  a 
crime  for  which,  if  there  be  a  God,  he  will  surely  die? 
Do  you?" 

Jack's  friend  choked;  his  throat  refused  its  office — 
he  struggled  to  find  words — and  was  silent. 

The  woman  looked  down  upon  him.  "I  thought  I 
hated  you  when  you  came  to  me,  but  I  did  not  know 
what  hate  meant  then.  Listen.  Jack  Masters  came  into 
my  life  two  years  ago.  It  took  him  a  year  and  a  half 
to  win  my  love.  Having  that,  he  labored  three  months 
to  get  me  to  consent  to  come  to  this  city.  He  swore 
he  could  not  live  without  me.  We  would  be  quietly 
married  and  live  away  from  the  world  until  his  folks 
were  convinced  that  he  would  not  marry  a  woman  who 
had  money  but  whom  he  professed  to  despise.  After 
months  of  entreaty  on  his  part,  I  yielded  this  much;  I 
would  follow  him  to  this  .city,  and  when  he  had  con 
vinced  me  that  he  would  risk  so  much  I  would  marry 
him,  and  hide  from  his  family  for  a  time " 

The  man  looked  up,  dark  anger  kindling  in  his  eyes. 

"He  left  me  in  my  quiet  Southern  home  to  dream 
of  a  great  love  in  a  new  home,  and  I  swear  to  you,  tho' 
you  are  but  a  stranger  thrust  into  my  life,  I  was  as  in 
nocent  as  any  woman  who  ever  went  to  the  altar  when  I 
came  to  this  city  three  months  ago.  We  were  mar 
ried "  the  words  were  scarcely  audible. 

"Married!"  he  cried.     "Why,  he  told  me " 

"Yes,"  her  lips  trembled,  but  a  devil  danced  in  her 
black  eyes  "what  did  he  tell  you?" 

"The  hound  told  me  he  picked  you  up  at  the  races 

somewhere   and   your   beastly   temper "   he   blurted 

out  then  paused. 

"That  will  do"  she  spoke  quietly.  "Now  listen  to 
me,  Mr.—  Mr. " 

"James   Meyers." 

"Listen  to  me,  Mr.  Meyers;  that  man  married  me. 
Those  who  assisted  in  the  ceremony  may  have  been 
as  false  as  he,  but  I  believed.  We  lived  at  a  hotel  a 
short  time,  then  he  brought  me  here,  to  a  fashionable 


1 62  MILLS   OF    MAMMON" 

boarding  house  as  he  said.  Oh,  what  a  farce !  What 
a  farce!  And  I,  poor  fool,  lived  here  for  weeks  in  igno 
rance  of  the  nature  of  the  fashionable  boarders'  social 
standing.  Lived  to  myself,  and  for  his  love — and  in  the 
end  this  infamy  is  put  upon  me.  Tell  him — this  friend 
of  yours — that  I  shall  pay  Madame  what  I  owe  her  and 
immediately  leave  this  house.  Once  outside  its  walls  his 
life  is  not  safe!  tell  him  this.  Tell  your  friend — has  he 
ever  done  a  like  act  of  kindness  for  you?  Tell  him  I 
shall  live  to  laugh  at  him  when  his  last  hope  of  forgive 
ness  has  faded — if  there  is  a  God,  I  will." 

"I  am  not  his  friend.  Damn  him !  I  could  kill 
him!"  the  man  cried  as  the  beauty  of  the  woman,  her 
misery,  her  power  to  hate,  rilled  him.  "I  could  kill  the 
cur !"  His  teeth  came  together  over  the  words. 

"Do  it !  Do  it !  Only  half  kill  him !  Mark  him  for 

life!  Maim  him "  She  was  on  her  knees  by  his 

side,  clinging  to  him.  "Do  this;  then  come  back  to  me 
for  your  reward — ask  anything,  everything!  Oh,  God! 
If  you  would  but  do  this  for  me!"  Spent,  she  sank  to 
the  floor. 

Our  stage  is  set.  Each  piece  of  property  in  place. 
Joel  Holdon  enters  the  doorway,  and  Madame  sends 
May  up  the  grand  stairway  to  summon  Norma  to  the 
feast. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

ARE    YOU    READY? 

Norma  Jordan  looked  toward  the  door  as  she  turned 
from  the  mirror.  "Yes,"  she  answered,  as  May  took  her 
hand  and  lifted  it  to  the  twisted  lips.  "Yes,"  she  re 
peated,  as  one  in  a  dream,  and  followed  the  maid. 

On  the  stairs,  as  she  hesitated  upon  the  landing,  she 
could  hear  the  great  clock  ticking — "Dollars  and  cents," 
"dollars  and  cents,"  "dollars  and  cents."  As  she  de 
scended  a  prayer  went  up  from  both  May  and  herself 
to  a  God  they  believed  to  be  all-powerful  to  save,  both 
here  and  hereafter. 

May  led  her  to  the  parlor,  whispering:  "He's  in 
the  parlor  now — he  used  to  come  when  Myrt  was — was 
here.  God  bless  you,  Norma,  God  bless  you !"  Gently 
she  pushed  the  girl  between  the  beautiful  silken  hang 
ings,  and  fled  that  she  might  not  know  the  next  act  in 
this  tragedy. 

After  one  quick  look  around  the  walls  adorned  with 
pictures  of  naked  women,  and  riots  of  debauchery,  her 
eyes  in  startled  terror  fled  to  the  faces  of  the  three  wom 
en  and  four  men  in  the  room.  Yes,  the  women  have 
heard  of  her — the  new  beauty.  Wildly  the  girl  looked 
from  face  to  face,  as  a  Christian  maiden  in  Nero's  time 
may  well  have  looked  into  the  eyes  of  the  beasts  whose 
claws  and  teeth  were  soon  to  tear  her  shrinking,  quiv 
ering  flesh.  Not  a  line  of  sympathy  marked  the  faces 
of  these  men  and  women  as  they  gazed  upon  the  cower 
ing  girl,  standing  at  bay,  her  back  against  the  pillar 
supporting  the  arch  spanning  the  entrance. 

The  three  women  looked  upon  her  beauty  and  dread 
ed  it.  Her  competition  was  to  be  feared.  The  four 
men  looked  upon  her  from  eyes  behind  which  a  thousand 
generations  of  men  have  handed  down  to  this  age,  with 
its  white  enamel  of  Christian  professions,  the  law  of 
the  jungle,  touching  women. 

163 


164  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

Look  at  this  sweet,  white  blossom  of  womanhood. 

Come  with  me,  all  ye  who  pray — who  call  upon  the 
name  of  God. 

Come  with  me  to  Madame  Vaughn's  old  red  brick 
mansion,  gray  stone  trimmed. 

Stand  there;  under  that  picture. 

No,  my  Puritan,  lift  your  eyes !  Look  upon  this 
daughter  of  a  Christian  land — by  her  mother  named 
Estella.  To-night  a  second  baptism  is  to  be  hers — in 
the  fires  of  a  more  than  hell  they  will  christen  her — 
Norma  Jordan. 

Look!  Her  head  has  fallen  upon  her  breast!  As 
she  stands  with  clinched  hands  before  her,  her  finger 
nails  are  eating  into  the  pink  of  her  skin  to  taste  the 
sweet  young  blood  before  these  wantons,  these  hellions 
of  your  greed-crazed  age,  shall  suck  it  up  drop  by  drop. 

Each  curve  and  swelling  beauty  of  this,  God's  gift 
to  earth,  was  designed  to  stir  the  appetite  of  a  regal 
love.  To  bless  a  world.  To  hallow  motherhood.  These 
deep  dyed  blushes  that  come  and  go,  over  half  concealed 
breasts  that  rise  and  fall  as  the  head  bends  lower  and 
lower — these  are  but  the  heralds  of  the  coming  fullness 
of  womanhood — and  here,  wolves,  human  wolves,  de 
vour  this  beauty,  and  feast  their  eyes  upon  her  flesh 
alone. 

Call  out  to  your  God,  O  Christian!  Call,  and  call 
yet  again.  That  such  things  should  stand,  that  this 
should  be  a  part  of  the  marketing,  the  profit-taking  of 
our  time. 

But  see!  She  totters.  She  sinks  to  the  floor,  and 
in  her  yielding  limbs  a  thousand  generations  of  outraged 
womanhood  cry  out  for  vengeance. 

Joel  Holdon  sprang  to  his  feet  as  Norma  fell,  and 
from  one  side  looked  up  at  a  girl  with  bleached,  straw- 
colored  hair.  "She's  ill,"  he  ventured,  and  the  girl, 
laughing,  replied: 

"Come  off.     She's  stringing  you !" 

At  that  moment  Madame  entered.  Hastily  surveying 
her  boarders  and  their  startled  guests,  she  fell  upon  her 
knees  beside  Norma,  and  attempted  to  revive  her.  Look 
ing  up  at  Joel,  who  had  asked,  "Is  this  the  girl?"  she 
answered  "Yes"  and  called  for  wine. 

The  wine,  supplemented  by  Madame's  efforts,  soon 


' and  here,  wolves,  human  wolves,  devour  this  beauty,  and  feast  their  eyes 

upon  her  flesh   alone." — Page   164. 


ARE   YOU   READY?  165 

brought  the  girl  to  consciousness  of  her  surroundings. 
Her  first  glance  at  Madame's  face  told  her  more  plainly 
than  words  that  her  keeper  was  angry;  that  she  must 
control  herself  and  play  the  game  to  the  limit  she  had 
set.  The  only  thing  between  her  and  dishonor  was  the 
integrity  of  a  man — and  he  must  be  put  to  the  test. 

"What  was  it,  Norma?"  The  question  was  sweetly 
spoken,  but  Norma  saw  the  Madame's  eyes. 

"I — I  don't  know,"  she  faltered;  then  gathering  her 
will,  went  on:  "It  won't  happen  again,  I  assure  you." 

Madame  left  the  room  as  Joel  took  the  girl  by  the 
arm  and  led  her  to  the  great  fat  davenport  where  but 
a  short  while  ago  a  boy  was  destroyed. 

Once  more  the  interrupted  revel  is  under  way.  The 
girl  with  the  bleached  straw  hair  has  been  called  to  the 
piano.  The  podgy  millionaire  and  his  mate  of  the  tragic 
eyes  are  gone;  so,  too,  the  dark  beauty  lured  from  the 
Southland.  But  six  remain.  Joel,  son  of  a  mother 
whose  life  was  one  long  prayer  for  him;  whose  sister 
has  opened  the  floodgates  of  her  heart  night  after  night 
for  him,  sits  upon  the  davenport  beside  the  woman  who 
is  to  prove  him.  His  arm  is  about  her  waist,  yet 
she  dare  not  reprove  him.  He  has  captured  her  hands 
and,  bending  over  her,  his  hot  breath  upon  her,  he  de 
mands  a  kiss  as  forfeit  for  the  scare  she  gave  him. 

He  has  a  right  to  ask  this — in  this  place  he  need  but 
ask  and  all  must  be  given — as  she  realizes  this  her  blood 
runs  riot  through  her  body,  her  senses  swim — she  lifts 
her  beautiful  face  in  pleading. 

Her  big,  brown  eyes  with  drooping  lashes  half  hid 
ing  them,  her  blushes,  her  heaving  bosom,  all  combin 
ing  to  make  her  ravishingly  tempting,  send  the  hungry 
jackals  of  passion  leaping  through  his  poisoned  veins  in 
wild  clamor  for  their  prey.  Again  and  again  his  hungry 
lips  devour  the  nectar  of  innocence.  Norma  hides  her 
face,  a  shuddering  fear  filling  her  soul.  Can  she  hold  out 
against  this  man?  Already  the  pain  is  half  sweet.  She 
must!  She  must!  so  she  tells  herself,  and  admits  that 
If  she  is  to  last  out  the  struggle  against  those  burning 
eyes,  those  arms,  those  lips,  those  hands,  the  test  must 
soon  be  had. 

The  girl  at  the  piano  swung  around  on  the  stool  just 
in  time  to  see  Joel's  last  kiss,  and  the  drooping  head 


l66  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

with  its  glory  of  brown  hair  into  which  the  lights  threw 
rays  of  burnished  copper.  Her  lips  are  curled  in  scorn. 
"He's  a  fool,  and  his  new  beauty  is  a  simpering  sissy. 
Just  look  at  her  playing  the  schoolgirl-come-on,  and  his 
being  taken  in  by  it.  Well,  I'll  just  put  an  end  to  this 
country  spooning,"  she  tells  her  lover,  and  asks  aloud: 

"Does  Miss  Jordan  play?" 

Joel  repeated  the  question,  and  at  Norma's  almost  in 
audible  answer  arises  and  offers  his  arm. 

"What  shall  it  be?"  Her  eyes  were  lifted  for  a 
moment  to  the  wall  above  that  instrument  of  grand  pos 
sibilities;  the  picture  hanging  there,  seen  at  a  glance, 
sends  her  eyes  back  to  the  ivory  keys.  Joel  Holdon,  son 
of  what  we  denominate  a  Christian  home,  who  to-night 
in  a  new  baptism  takes  the  name  of  James  Y.  Johnson, 
bends  over  the  girl. 

"Give  us  anything  and  you  won't  miss  it,"  he  whis 
pers. 

Slowly  her  fingers  wander  over  the  keys.  She  sits 
at  home.  Her  first  lover,  a  boy  who  went  to  school  with 
her,  stands  at  her  side.  Just  behind  in  the  dim  light  of 
the  little  home  nest  sit  her  mother  and  sister.  Mechani 
cally  her  mind  directs  her  fingers  to  the  old  melodies; 
homely  songs  of  a  buried  past;  a  time  before  our  Chris 
tian  homes  were  filled  with  songs  from  red-light  dis 
tricts  set  to  ragtime.  Still  she  is  seeking  something; 
the  melodies  she  has  found  run  through  a  few  bars  and 
die  away — she  has  found  it! 

The  grand  piano  responds;  it  quivers,  and  vibrates. 
The  slave  has  lifted  her  eyes.  No  more  that  horrid 
picture;  in  its  stead  a  picture  not  of  pigments  on  can 
vas,  but  a  spirit  picture  born  of  the  torture  of  the  hour, 
fills  up  the  massive  gilt  frame  above  the  piano. 

All  other  sound  in  this  parlor  where  Bacchus  revels 
with  drunken  earth  clods  is  stilled  as  a  clear  young  voice 
rises  and  falls  in  unearthly  sweetness  and  appeal. 

"Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee,  Nearer  to  Thee,"  the 
words  swell  grandly  forth. 

Joel  clutched  the  side  of  the  piano:  "What  sort  of 
a  song  is  this  for  such  a  place?"  he  asks  himself. 

Over  yonder  where  the  dark-eyed  woman  sat  so 
short  a  time  ago  and  offered  a  stranger  all  she  could 


ARE   YOU   READY?  167 

possibly  give,  the  girl  with  bleached  hair  now  sits,  her 
face  buried  in  her  hands. 

A  hard-visaged  woman  who  has  been  discussing  a 
"dope  sheet"  with  her  companion,  sits  staring  at  the 
girl  as  she  ends  the  first  stanza  of  the  hymn.  In  a 
bound  she  reaches  the  piano  before  the  second  stanza 
is  reached: 

"What  th'  hell's  th'  matter  with  you?  Think  this  's 
a  gospel  shop?"  she  demands,  roughly  shaking  the  girl. 

"Let  her  alone,  Madge,  a  little  of  it  won't  hurt—" 
Joel  begins. 

"Let  her  alone  nothin' !  Look  what  she's  doin'  t* 
Fanny.  Th'  fool's  blubberin'  like  a  kid,  and  first  we 
know  she'll  be  havin'  one  of  them  spells." 

Norma,  released  by  the  woman,  slipped  from  the 
stool,  and  catching  Joel  by  the  arm,  said:  "Do  please 
take  me  away.  For  God's  sake  take  me  out  of  this 
place." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE    BETRAYAL. 

When  Joel  led  Norma  from  the  parlor  to  her  room 
he  tried  to  take  her  in  his  arms,  but  she  eluded  him. 
For  the  first  time  since  she  had  been  in  the  city  she 
had  the  key  to  her  room ;  she  turned  the  key  and  faced 
the  man.  Again  he  attempted  to  take  her  in  his  arms. 

"Wait,  Mr.  Johnson,  I  must  tell  you  something," 
she  panted. 

"Oh,  you're  all  right;  I'll  risk'  that." 

"You  don't  understand."  Upon  her  knees  she  lifted 
her  sweet  young  face  to  him,  and  in  her  outstretched 
hands  held  up  her  virtue,  her  purity,  her  womanhood, 
and  asked  him  to  bless  it  in  mercy. 

"I  am  not  what  you  think  me.  I  was  lured  here,  be 
trayed,  deceived.  Oh,  Mr.  Johnson,  you  can't  know 
the  awful  things  that  have  been  threatened — you  can 
not  know  what  I  have  suffered !  You  are  my  one  hope. 
Stay  here  to-night.  You  may  have  my  bed,  I  will  sleep 
on  the  floor  in  the  bath  room,  anywhere.  To-morrow 
come  back  and  get  me ;  take  me  out  of  this  awful  place ; 
let  me  go  home  to  my  mother  and  sister.  Do  this  for 
me,  and  God  will  bless  you." 

He  heard  her  out;  yes,  every  word,  and  if  he  had 
been  a  man  of  clean  blood  he  could  have  given  her  but 
one  answer.  But  here  was  game  well  worth  the  chase. 
He  lifted  her  up  and  seated  her  upon  a  divan. 

"My  dear  girl,"  he  said,  "don't  you  know  that  I 
could  not  take  you  away  to-morrow?" 

"Not  take  me  away,  and  why?" 

"Not  one  of  the  Madame's  boarders  leaves  here,  even 
for  a  drive,  until  Madame  is  sure  they  are  safe." 

"And  this  was  my  one  hope!"  the  girl  exclaimed. 
"Unless,  unless  you  could  protect  me  until  Madame  is 
satisfied !" 

He  had  his  arms  about  her.  "My  God,  Norma,  I 
168 


THE  BETRAYAL  169 

don't  want  to  protect  you  for  a  month  only;  I  want  to 
protect  you  always/'' 

She  ceased  to  struggle;  he  reached  up  and  drew 
her  head  down,  down  until  he  had  almost  touched  her 
lips,  when,  with  a  cry,  she  freed  herself. 

"What  am  I  doing?  What  am  I  doing?"  she  wailed 
as  she  put  the  length  of  the  room  between  them. 

"Nothing  wrong,  Norma,  nothing  wrong,"  he  re 
peated,  following  her.  "Come  back  and  be  a  sensible 
little  girl.  Let  us  look  this  situation  square  in  the  face 
and  see  what  we  can  do,"  he  urged.  When  he  had  pre 
vailed  upon  her  to  be  seated  he  said:  "Now  see  here, 
Norma,  if  I  had  come  to  your  home  and  told  you  I 
loved  you,  you  would  have  listened  to  me,  wouldn't 
you?" 

Remembering  his  lips,  she  whispered,  "Yes." 

"And  after  we  had  been  engaged  awhile  we  would 
have  married,  and — and  you  wouldn't  talk  about  sleep 
ing  on  the  floor,  or  in  the  bath  room,  would  you?" 
Again  his  arm  encircled  her  waist.  Blushing,  she  hung 
her  head,  but  did  not  answer,  and  his  hungry  eyes 
caught  fire  again.  "Now,  how  about  the  present  case? 
I  am  sorry,  of  course,  that  Madame,  or  whoever  it  was, 
trapped  you;  but  I  am  glad  I  was  the  one  to  find  you, 
for  I  love  you,  I  love  you!"  He  smiled  and  winked  at 
the  great  brass  bedstead  as  the  girl's  head  was  drawn 
to  his  shoulder  and  lay  there  even  when  he  slipped  his 
hand  down  to  the  whiteness  of  her  neck.  "Now,  it's  up 
to  us  to  make  the  best  of  things  as  we  find  them.  If 
I  could  take  you  home  to-morrow  I  would  be  back  the 
day  after  trying  to  get  you  to  marry  me.  I  would  carry 
you  off  and  marry  you  to-morrow,  you  sweetest  of  wom 
en,  so  I  don't  see  why  you  should  ask  me  to  wait  a 
month,  especially  as  I  will  have  to  stay  with  you  at  least 
half  the  time,  if  I  am  to  hope  to  get  you  away  at  the 
end  of  that  time." 

•Norma  freed  herself  from  his  embrace  and  tried  to 
read  his  face,  his  eyes.  She  was  in  desperate  straits. 
Was  this  man  to  be  trusted?  If  he  could  give  up 
enough  to  come  to  her,  protect  her  until  they  could 
leave  this  place  together,  could  she  risk  everything  upon 
a  promise? 

"Norma,  you  doubt  me ;"  his  voice  carried  reproach. 


I7O  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"You  doubt  me,  while  I,  finding  you  here  in  such  a  place 
as  this,  and  knowing  nothing  of  your  people  or  your 
self,  tell  you  I  love  you  and  offer  to  marry  you  as 
soon  as  I  may  safely  take  you  away;  still  you  doubt 
me." 

"Oh,  my  God!  I  don't  know  what  to  do;  I  don't 
know  what  to  do!"  It  was  the  cry  of  one  tortured. 
As  she  tottered  to  the  great  east  window  the  man  smiled, 
but  she  saw  only  a  serious  face ;  when  looking  around 
at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  she  heard  him  say: 

"Norma,  dear,  why  don't  you  do  the  thing  that's 
easiest,  the  thing  that  will  put  your  whole  trouble  on 
my  shoulders.  I  am  well-to-do  for  a  young  man;  my 
family  are  in  the  lumber  business  (he  was  thinking 
of  his  father's  offer  of  a  position  at  one  of  the  iron 
mines)  and  I  am  able  to  give  you  a  good  home." 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?"  she  asked  in  an  awed 
whisper. 

"Do  ?"  he  repeated,  going  over  to  her.  "Why,  sweet 
heart,  I  want  you  to  marry  me  before  God  to-night, 
and  before  men  as  soon  as  I  can  get  you  away  from 
Madame's  without  kicking  up  a  fuss." 

Norma  put  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  it  was 
covered  in  an  instant  by  one  of  his.  Her  face  as  sweet, 
as  firm  as  artists  paint  the  face  of  the  virgin,  was  turned 
to  his. 

"Mr.  Johnson,  I  have  told  you  my  story.  You  say 
there  is  no  escape  from  this  place  short  of  a  month; 
that  this  woman  must  have  her  pound  of  flesh,  that 
you  cannot  help  me  in  any  other  than  the  way  you  have 
named?" 

"I  do."    He  is  looking  straight  into  her  brown  eyes. 

"You  tell  me  you  love  me;  that  you  believe  my 
story;  that,  if  you  could  take  me  away  from  this — this 
place  to-morrow,  it  would  be  to  marry  me?" 

"I  do."  His  passion  played  a  very  devil's  dance  in 
his  eyes,  but  the  girl  saw  only  the  ardor  of  a  man  who 
loves. 

"You  know  what  I  will  be  exposed  to  if  you  should 
go  from  this  room  and  tell  Madame  what  I  have  told 
you?  I  want  you  to  realize  that  I  know  I  am  power 
less,  that  resistance  is  useless,  that  I  am  ready  to  yield 


THE   BETRAYAL  IJ7I 

all,  and  now,  rather  than  suffer  as  I  have  suffered  in 
anticipation  of  this  moment/' 

He  tried  to  kiss  her,  but  she  held  him  back. 

"Wait,  wait/'  she  pleaded.  "Let  me  tell  you  all, 
then  you  may  choose,  and  God  help  you.  When  we 
came  into  this  room  I  had  but  one  hope,  and  that  was 
that  I  might  touch  your  heart.  My  youth,  my  inexperi 
ence,  all  I  was  or  am,  this  I  threw  at  your  feet.  You 
offered  me  love  and  marriage,  when  you  had  the  right 
to  command  my  obedience  to  your  will.  If  I  refused 
you  could  consign  me  to  such  torture  as  only  a  pure 
woman  may  suffer  at  the  hands  of  such  men  and  wom 
en  as  brought  me  to  this  place.  Do  you  still  insist  that 
you  love  me  and  will  marry  me  as  soon  as  you  may 
take  me  away?" 

"Norma,  I  love  you,  and  I  swear  I  will  marry  you. 
What  more  can  you  ask?" 

The  girl  hears,  and  a  beautiful  face,  illumined  with 
all  of  hope,  sweet  beyond  expression,  is  turned  to  the 
man,  his  arms  reach  out,  and  she  offers  her  lips  with 
a  sigh  that  is  both  renunciation  and  sacrifice.  Yet  the 
beauty,  purity,  trust  and  adoration  that  shine  in  the 
depths  of  her  eyes  as  she  seeks  to  fathom  the  eyes  of 
the  man  who,  to  her,  is  both  prince  and  deliverer,  will 
haunt  him,  even  to  death. 

At  ten  the  next  morning  Joel  entered  his  father's 
office.  To  the  clerk  he  said: 

"Bill,  go  in  and  tell  the  governor  I've  :come  to  see 
him  about  that  mine  proposition."  To  himself  he  add 
ed:  "If  he  had  the  President  in  there,  he'd  drop  him 
on  that  hint." 

Five  minutes  later  he  and  his  father  had  come  to 
an  agreement.  The  father  was  elated,  the  son  well 
satisfied.  He  would  go  up  the  next  week  and  select  a 
cage  in  some  convenient  place,  not  too  far  removed 
from  his  work,  a  cage  in  which  to  put  the  bird  he  had 
caught  in  the  lime  last  night. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


CHARLEY   HARRIS  FINDS  A  JOB. 

"Price,  what  did  that  young  fellow  want?"  Horace 
Holdon  inquired  of  his  superintendent  as  he  glanceH 
at  a  young  man  who  was  slowly  leaving  the  office. 

"Oh,  he  has  wheels,"  Price  replied  with  a  shrug. 

"Well,  he  don't  look  it.  What  makes  you  think 
so?  There  he's  stopped  on  the  street,  uncertain  which 
way  to  go.  What  did  you  tell  him  ?" 

"I  told  him  to  call  to-morrow.  He  wants  work; 
said  he'd  almost  do  it  for  the  privilege  of  studying  our 
heavy  casting  work.  He  thinks  he  has  something  to 
cheapen  the  cost  of  moulding;  I  didn't  ask  what." 

"Well,  he  is  out  there  still.  Will  you  send  one  of 
the  clerks  out  and  have  him  come  in  again?  He  looks 
both  intelligent  and  capable  to  me." 

Five  minutes  later  Charley  was  laying  before  the 
Honorable  Horace  Holdon  the  future  process  of  cast 
ing  iron  and  other  metals ;  he  had  a  good  listener. 
When  he  had  finished  the  Honorable  Horace,  smiling, 
asked : 

"Have  you  secured  letters  patent?" 

"No,  sir,"  the  simple  mechanic  replied.  "I  have  not 
built  the  perfected  machine;  that's  the  only  reason  I 
am  in  the  city.  I  came  here  to  build  the  machine." 

"But  you  say  you  have  given  this  machine  a  thor 
ough  trial,  and  have  one  of  the  castings  produced,  in 
fact,  the  first  one  produced,  if  I  followed  you?" 

"Yes,  sir,  a  perfect  casting  and  the  only  changes  I 
will  make  in  the  second  machine  will  be  to  increase 
speed,  make  the  machine  more  compact  and  build  the 
flasks  along  new  lines.  As  far  as  the  working  out 
of  the  principle  is  concerned,  that  is  solved,  and  is 
perfect." 

"Did  you  tell  Mr.  Price,  the  gentleman  you  talked 

172 


CHARLIE   HARRIS  FINDS  A  JOB  173 

with  a  little  while  ago,  what  sort  of  a  machine  you  had 
in  mind?" 

"No,  sir,  I  only  mentioned  that  I  was  working  out 
a  problem,  and  needed  to  get  better  acquainted  with  the 
work  as  it  is  done  in  a  large  plant  before  going  fur 
ther." 

"I  see.  Avoid  mentioning  anything  about  your 
work  to  any  one." 

Holclon  drummed  upon  his  desk  and  did  not  speak 
again  until  the  mechanic  said: 

"I  certainly  am  grateful  for  the  interest  you  have 
taken." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  that's  all  right;  I  am  willing 
to  admit  that  I  am  both  interested  and  curious — so  much 
so  that  I  would  like  to  see  the  casting  you  made  in 
your  machine.  Could  you  bring  it  up  this  afternoon?" 

"Certainly;  I  would  be  pleased  to,"  Charley  replied 
with  pride. 

"Then  come  up  at  three  o'clock,  and  you  need  not 
look  farther  for  work.  We  will  take  care  of  you  and 
give  you  every  opportunity  to  study  the  business.  In 
fact,  a  letter  of  introduction  from  me  will  give  you  a 
chance  to  inspect  any  plant  in  the  city  or  anywhere  else 
you  may  wish  to  push  your  investigations  during  your 
spare  time." 

So  it  was  arranged  that  Charley  should  return  with 
his  precious  memento  of  a  first  victory.  Greatly  re 
joiced  in  finding  such  a  sympathetic,  whole-souled,  gen 
erous  employer,  he  went  back  to  his  hotel. 

Mr.  Holdon  swung  lazily  in  his  office  chair,  selected 
a  cigar,  lit  it  and  communed  with  himself. 

"The  fool  has  not  even  filed  a  caveat  and  don't 
intend  to  patent  his  machine  until  it  is  perfected.  Well, 
well,  well;  suckers  are  born  every  minute.  If  that  ma 
chine  will  do  the  work  there's  millions  in  it.  And  I 
have  a  shrewd  guess  as  to  who  will  handle  those  mil 
lions." 

Touching  a  button  at  his  elbow,  a  boy  appeared. 

"Tell  Price  I  want  to  see  him." 

As  the  boy  disappeared  his  mind  went  back  to  the 
alluring  possibilities  of  a  rapidly  forming  scheme. 

"I've  got  to  go  about  this  carefully.  Harris  must 
be  kept  in  the  dark  as  to  the  possibilities  of  losing  his 


174  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

rights  to  patent,  through  a  leak.  He  evidently  thinks 
he  must  have  the  thing  perfected  before  he  can  take 
steps  to  protect  it,  and  he  must  keep  on  thinking  so." 

"You  wanted  to  see  me?"  Price  inquired,  his  head 
thrust  in  at  the  doorway.  The  employer  answered  cor 
dially: 

"Yes,  come  in.  Price,  that  young  fellow  may  have 
wheels,  but  from  what  he  told  me  of  his  experience  in 
foundries  in  smaller  towns  I  should  judge  that  he  must 
be  a  good  workman  and  an  all  around  man  at  that." 

"Well,  that's  encouraging." 

"Yes.  Well,  he  may  prove  valuable  to  us  in  more 
ways  than  one,  and  I  want  you  to  try  him  out.  He 
wants  to  work  and  look  about  a  bit." 

"But  we  can't  stand  for  that.  Why,  man  alive,  he 
may  be  one  of  the  union's  walking  delegates,  and  by 
getting  the  run  of  the  works  he'd  simply  raise  hell 
among  the  men.  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Holdon,  we  can't  be 
too  careful.  That  cuss  is  not  simple.  I  saw  him  when 
he  left  here  after  his  talk  with  you  and  he  looked — well 
— he  looked  like  he  had  just  pulled  over  a  jack  pot." 

"Oh  pshaw!  Price.  Your  first  little  set-to  with  the 
labor  unions  is  still  on  your  nerves.  They  were  too 
much  for  you." 

"Not  on  your  life,"  Price  protested.  "Next  time  I 
run  up  against  the  unions  they  may  strike  and  be 
damned." 

"Never  mind,  Price,  never  mind;  let's  get  back  to 
Harris.  I  will  guarantee  that  he  is  not  a  union  man, 
and  if  you  handle  him  right,  never  will  be.  By  the  way, 
I  wish  you  would  go  down  to  the  Dredging  Company 
this  afternoon.  Take  Johnson  or  Kodetz,  or  both,  and 
get  the  work  started  on  those  patterns.  They  are  get 
ting  anxious.  "Say,"  he  called  after  the  superintendent, 
"you  can  go  down  after  dinner  and  save  the  extra  trip 
out  here." 

Price's  only  comment  on  the  substance  of  the  inter 
view  was:  "I  wonder  what  the  old  man's  trying  to  get 
out  of  that  young  fellow?  I  go  down  town  after  dinner 
to  save  a  trip  out  here.  First  time  in  his  life  that  he's 
thought  of  saving  me  an  extra  trip.  I'll  bet  a  horse 
that  young  Harris  is  coming  back  this  afternoon  and 
Holdon  wants  to  keep  me  from  getting  next." 


CHARLIE  HARRIS  FINDS  A  JOB    ,  175 

"Here,  you,  limpy,  come  here !"  he  called  to  a  crip 
pled  roustabout.  As  he  came  up  Price  held  out  a 
quarter.  "Need  it,  Crips?" 

"Bet  yer  life,  but  do  I  git  it?" 

"Yes,  you  get  it.  Come  with  me."  Outside  the 
gates  upon  the  side  street  lay  a  pile  of  brick.  "I  want 
you  to  work  here  from  one  o'clock  until  I  get  back  from 
downtown.  Stack  the  brick  in  a  nice  pile.  There'll  be 
another  load  along  in  an  hour  or  two  after  dinner.  I 
want  you  to  watch  for  a  young  man  of  about  twenty- 
five,  as  tall  and  about  the  same  build  as  myself.  He 
wears  a  brown  suit,  tan  shoes  and  a  light  soft  hat, 
and " 

"Oh,  that's  th'  guy  stopped  me  dis  mornin'  an'  want 
ed  to  know  wus  dis  de  place " 

"So  you  would  know  him  again?" 

"Couldn't  miss  him,  boss.  Say,  he's  new  to  dis  life ; 
talks  as  good — why,  he's  de  real  candy.  Wanted  to 
know  how  was  me  mudder,  and  asks  me  hav'  I  got  kid 
relatives.  No,  I  couldn't  possibly  miss  him,"  Mickey 
Dougherty  concluded  with  a  broad  grin. 

"Well,  here's  the  money  in  advance.  Not  a  whisper 
to  any  one,  but  just  keep  your  eye  peeled.  If  he  shows 
up  and  goes  into  our  office  you  keep  tab  on  how  long 
he  stays,  and — well,  that's  all." 

Mickey's  wink  at  the  billboard  across  the  street  was 
expressive.  "Wonder  w'at  th'  'ell's  on?  I  ain't  never 
looked  fer  Price  to  tip  me  to  shadder  th'  old  man.  An* 
th'  young  guy;  I  hopes  they  ain't  a-goin  t*  do  nothin' 
t'  him — he's  pure  sugar." 

Mickey's  labor  was  not  in  vain.  At  a  few  minutes 
to  three  o'clock  the  young  man  in  the  light  hat  came 
up  the  side  street,  carrying  under  his  arm  a  parcel 
wrapped  in  newspaper. 

"Hello,  youngster,"  was  his  greeting,  as  he  halted 
beside  the  pile  of  brick.  "Got  a  light  job  to-day,  eh?" 

"Yep,  considerable  light  an'  good  pay,"  Mickey,  re 
plied,  winking  repeatedly  at  the  brick  in  his  hands. 

"Guess  I'm  going  to  work  with  you  after  a  while," 
Charley  volunteered  as  he  sauntered  on  toward  the 
office. 

An  hour  later  he  reappeared  with  his  parcel  neatly 
wrapped  in  a  different  sort  of  paper,  to  find  Mickey 


176  MILLS  OF   MAMMON 

working  like  a  Trojan  to  get  the  few  remaining  bricks 
corded. 

Both  the  Honorable  Horace  Holdon  and  Charles 
Harris  are  satisfied,  and  we  should  be.  Mickey  is  satis 
fied,  for  he  has  a  second  quarter  to  jingle  against  the 
first  since  he  reported  to  Price.  Price  is  the  only  dis 
satisfied  member  of  the  quartette. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  FIRST  ALARM. 

"Say,  Prof.,  they  say  Stella  Davis  ain't  sent  a  word 
home  the  two  weeks  she's  been  to  the  city,"  the  postmas 
ter  announced  to  Professor  Saunders  as  the  latter  stood 
at  the  "General  Delivery"  window  shortly  after  school 
hours  one  Friday  afternoon. 

"Haven't  heard  from  her?"  the  Professor  ques 
tioned,  knitting  his  brows.  "Why,  that  can't  be  true. 
Anna  told  me  the  other  day  that  Estella  was  getting 
along  all  right." 

"Well,  it's  against  orders;  but,  by  gum,  I'm  a-goin' 
to  do  it,  government  or  no  government !  I  tell  you  there 
hasn't  been  a  line  come  to  this  office  in  more'n  two 
weeks — facts  are,  they  got  a  postal  card  the  day  after 
she  left,  an*  that  she  writ  on  th'  train,  an'  if  they've 
heard  any  more  it's  been  telegraphed." 

"That's  easy  found  out,"  the  Professor  answered, 
thoughtfully,  "and  as  for  Estella,  I  tell  you  if  they 
haven't  heard  from  her  there's  something  wrong." 

He  had  turned  to  go  when  the  postmaster  said: 
"No  need  of  going  over  to  see  the  operator.  I  saw 
him  just  before  you  came  in,  an'  he  says  there  hasn't 
been  no  telegrams  gone  up  to  the  Davis'  house  since 
some  one  telegraphed  to  Stella  before  she  went  away." 

"Well,  some  one  ought  to  go  up  and  see  Mrs.  Davis 
if  that's  the  case." 

"Just  what  I've  been  thinkin'  for  a  week — but  them 
wimmen  are  so  proud,  you  can't  tell  how  they'd  take 
it.  Why,  Ann  comes  in  here,  looks  in  their  box  after 
every  mail,  and  just  draws  her  lips  tight  an'  answers 
those  that  question  her  and  digs  out — but  I  tell  you  it's 
wearing  on  her,  and  somethin'  ought  to  be  done." 

By  this  time  a  half-dozen  neighbors  had  stopped 
and  were  listening  to  the  conversation. 

"If  it  isn't  too  late,"  the  Professor's  voice  was  low, 
177 


1/  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"I  know  something  of  the  ways  of  the  world,  and  if 
the  girl  has  been  in  the  hands  of  some  people  I  have 
heard  of,  the  angels  of  heaven  couldn't  save  her,  but," 
he  turned  .to  those  who  had  gathered,  "not  a  word  of 
any  of  this  until  we  have  seen  Mrs.  Davis.  Now,  who 
will  go  with  me  and  get  at  the  truth  of  tfhis  report  that 
the  family  have  not  heard  from  her  since  she  went  to 
Chicago  ?" 

"Oh,  there's  nothing  to  that  report,"  a  neighbor  of 
the  Davis  family  spoke.  "Mrs.  Davis  told  my  wife  only 
yesterday  that  Stella  was  well." 

"Just  some  old  woman's  gabble,"  another  announced. 

But  one  man  in  the  crowd  edged  his  way  to  the  Pro 
fessor's  side  and  whispered  to  him  to  agree  with  the 
men — it  would  keep  the  story  from  spreading.  He 
added  that  as  soon  as  they  could  get  away  without  being 
observed  he  would  accompany  the  teacher  to  the  Davis 
home. 

Thus  it  fell  out  that  the  two  women,  while  sorrow 
fully  preparing  the  evening  meal,  were  surprised  by 
the  advent  of  visitors — each  of  whom  had  more  than 
a  passing  interest  in  the  family,  as  will  shortly  develop. 

"Good  evening,  Henry,  and  you,  too,  Professor. 
Come  right  in."  Even  as  she  spoke  this  greeting  to  her 
guests  the  mother's  lips  quivered.  Did  these  men  know 
that  Estella  had  forgotten  her  old  home?  That  the 
glamour  of  city  life  had  so  turned  her  head  that  she 
even  refused  to  answer  any  of  their  letters?  Had  some 
one  been  to  the  city?  the  tortured  mother  wondered. 

Anna  met  the  Professor  with  stony  eyes.  He  had 
not  been  to  call  upon  her  since  before  Estella  went 
away,  and  in  her  heart  had  crept  the  thought  that  he 
might  have  been  courting  her  in  order  to  be  near  her 
sister.  She  could  not  guess  that  he  had  noted  a  change 
in  her  manner  toward  him  even  before  Estella  went 
away,  and  thought  she  had  become  ambitious  to  follow 
Estella  to  the  city,  and  consequently  did  not  care  to  en 
courage  his  suit. 

Both  men  were  ill  at  ease,  after  they  had  exhausted 
die  small  talk  wherewith  we  mortals  attempt  to  bridge 
over  the  uncomfortable  and  oft  recurring  chasms 
abounding  in  the  land  where  all  fear  to  be  misunder 
stood.  "What  business  have  I  to  pry  into  the  hidden 


THE  FIRST  ALARM  179 

griefs  and  hurt  prides  of  this  family,"  each  asked  him 
self,  and  each  decided  that  women  who  had  no  men 
folks  of  their  own  to  look  after  them  couldn't  take  a 
bit  of  neighborly  interest  amiss,  even  though  there  was 
nothing  in  the  rumor. 

According  to  agreement  Henry,  the  older  man,  was 
to  keep  Mrs.  Davis  engaged  in  a  discussion  of  current 
events  until  the  Professor  had  sounded  Anna.  It  took 
several  nudges,  and  sundry  winks,  to  start  the  Professor 
on  his  mission,  but  finally  he  mustered  courage  to  ask 
Anna  to  step  out  on  the  porch  with  him,  as  he  had 
something  important  to  talk  over  with  her. 

As  she  followed  him,  pale-faced  and  wondering,  her 
mind  was  busy  framing  an  excuse  for  not  listening  to 
him,  but  he  did  not  give  her  time  to  utter  a  word  before 
he  plunged  into  his  subject. 

"Anna,"  he  began,  as  soon  as  they  were  out  the 
door.  "I  have  been  all  you  would  let  me  be  to  you  ever 
since  I  came  to  this  town — why  didn't  you  come  to  me 
with  your  trouble.?" 

The  girl  shrank  back  among  the  wild  cucumber 
vines  that  girdled  the  porch,  but  did  not  reply. 

"I  know,"  the  man  went  on,  "that  Estella  has  not 
answered  any  of  your  letters." 
"How  do  you  know?" 

"That  does  not  matter — it  is  the  truth — and  you 
foolish  women  for  some  cause,  to  me  an  enigma,  are 
keeping  silent  when  Estella's  life,  her  very  honor,  may 
be  in  danger." 

"Oh,  John,"  the  girl  gasped  and  caught  at  him  for 
support.  "I've  been  afraid  of  that,  but  it  is  only  moth 
er's  pride  that's  hurt — she  does  not  suspect,  and  I  dare 
not  tell  her  of  my  half-formed  fears — a  mention  of  that 
would  kill  her.  Oh,  John,  how  could  I  know?  I 
thought  you  had  ceased — had  ceased  to — to  care — 
you " 

"And  you,"  he  replied,  kissing  her  despite  a  protest, 
"you  made  me  wretched.  How  could  I  know,  when 
you  deliberately  lied  to  me  ?  Oh,  Anna,  how  could  you ! 
Why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?" 

"Because  I  foolishly  promised  mother  not  to  say  a 
word  to  any  one.  Poor  mother  believes  that  Estella  has 
forgotten  us,  and  recounts  stories  she  has  read  about 


ISO  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

children  who  left  home  and  were  so  enamored  of  their 
new  surroundings  that  they  didn't  want  to  even  hear  of 
the  old  homes — and  because  this  is  the  easiest,  safest 
thing  to  believe,  I  have  tried  to  accept  it,  but " 

"But  you  are  both  very  foolish,  if  you  will  pardon 
me  for  being  so  blunt,  to  harbor  such  a  thought  of  Es- 
tella  for  a  moment." 

"I  know  it,  John.  I  know  it.  Will  you  go  to  the 
city  and  find  her  for  us?  She  always  liked  you,"  the 
girl  blushed  and  looked  down.  Professor  John  Saun- 
ders,  unable  to  resist  the  temptation,  gathered  her  into 
his  arms  and  was  trying  to  tell  her  that  he  would  go 
to  the  ends  of  the  earth  for  her  when  Mrs.  Davis  came 
to  the  door.  At  sight  of  the  tableau  on  the  back  porch 
she  threw  up  her  hands: 

"Land  of  love.  If  I  ever!  Why,  Professor  Saun- 
ders !"  were  the  exclamations  that  brought  Henry  to  her 
side,  and  at  the  same  time  caused  the  Professor  to  look 
up  with  a  rather  sheepish  smile,  then  to  whisper  to  the 
girl,  whose  face  was  hidden  on  his  shoulder:  "There's 
but  ®ne  way  to  explain,  and  it's  the  way  I've  wanted  to 
explain  things  to  your  mother  for  more  than  a  year." 
And  he  said  aloud,  that  those  standing  in  the  doorway 
might  hear:  "Mrs.  Davis,  I  love  your  daughter — may 
I  have  her?" 

"Land  a  mercy.  Isn't  that  a  slick  way  of  getting 
around  an  old  lady?  John  Saunders,  why  didn't  you 
bring  the  rest  of  the  neighbors  in,  and  tell  it  right  out 
before  them  all?' 

"I  wouldn't  be  ashamed  to  tell  the  whole  world," 
John  stoutly  protested,  while  he  pressed  Anna  closer  and 
she  hung  her  head  lower  to  hide  her  blushes. 

"Well,  I  ain't  got  a  word  to  say — when  a  girl  stands 
afore  her  own  mother,  an'  a  stranger,  as  you  might  call 
Henry  here,  an'  lets  a  man  hug  her,  an'  she  don't  seem 
in  no  ways  bashful  about  it — I  should  judge  that  I  ain't 
got  nothing  to  say." 

"Mother!"  There  was  a  world  of  reproach  in 
Anna's  voice  as  she  lifted  a  radiant  though  tear-stained 
face  from  her  lover's  shoulder. 

After  the  mother  and  Henry  had  left  them  Anna 
turned  to  her  lover:  "John,"  she  said,  "I  ought  to  be 


THE  FIRST  ALARM  l8l 

ashamed  of  myself  for  being  so  happy — if  you  love  me, 
go.    Don't  telegraph,  don't  say  a  word  to  any  one." 

"But  the  postmaster,  operator,  and  Henry  know — 
and  the  Lord  only  knows  how  many  more  have  the  news 
by  this  time,"  he  protested. 

"Then  there  is  all  the  more  reason  why  you  should 
hurry.  In  a  wjsek's  time  think  how  many  .stories  will  be 
abroad." 

"I  will  go  to-night,"  he  answered,  and  kissed  her  de 
spite  her  struggles,  protesting  that  he  deserved  much 
for  all  the  doubts  he  had  carried  in  his  heart  for  the 
weeks  since  he  had  imagined  she  had  geased  to  care 
for  him. 

"Say,  by  gum,  you're  the  bully  boy  with  th'  glass  eye 
all  right,  John  Saunders,"  Henry  Weaver  observed  as 
soon  as  they  were  out  on  the  otreet,  and  enlarged  upon 
his  statement  as  follows:  "Perfectly  smooth,  perfectly 
smooth.  Had  the  old  lady  in  a  corner  where  she  had  to 
either  come  up  to  the  trough  or  jump  the  fence,  and  as 
for  th'  young  lady — well,  from  th'  way  you  was  hangin' 
onto  her  it  seemed  to  me  that  it  was  as  well  that  she 

didn't  try  to  yank  herself  loose.    If  she  had " 

"If  she  had  I  would  have  caught  her  again,"  the 
Professor  answered,  laughing;  and  then  in  a  serious 
tone  took  up  the  discussion  of  ways  and  means  for  the 
prosecution  of  his  city  trip.  Before  they  had  reached 
the  postoffice  where  the  postmaster  was  anxiously  await 
ing  them,  it  had  been  agreed  that  both  should  go  to  the 
city. 

Upon  arrival  in  the  city,  Weaver  and  Saunders 
first  sought  the  address  given  by  the  firm  with  whom 
Estella  was  supposed  to  be  employed.  The  number  was 
found  to  tally  with  a  hole  in  the  ground  on  West  Madi 
son  street,  and  they  were  advised  to  lose  no  time  in  pre 
senting  their  case  to  the  police.  So  they  hastened  to  a% 
downtown  station  and  laid  their  case  before  the  officer 
in  charge. 

"But,  my  dear  sir,"  the  sergeant  protested,  "you 
should  have  come  to  us  with  this  case  two  weeks  ago. 
In  fact,  we  should  have  known  of  this  unprotected 
girl's  arrival  in  the  city.  It's  pretty  late  in  the  day  to 
undertake  an  investigation  and  give  you  any  promise 


l82  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

of  reaching  her.  You  say  the  address  at  which  she 
was  supposed  to  work  is  that  of  a  vacant  lot?  Of 
course,  it  was  a  regular  plant." 

"How  about  the  letters  her  folks  have  written  each 
day?"  This  from  the  Professor. 

"Oh,  they'd  see  that  that  end  of  it  was  fixed  for 
a  while  at  least,  but  I'll  send  a  man  over  to  the  office 
and  find  out  about  her  mail  as  soon  as  I  have  one  to 
spare,  and  we'll  put  a  couple  of  good  men  on  the  case." 
He  paused  and  seemed  buried  in  thought  for  a  time, 
then  looking  up,  asked:  "Did  you  bring  much  money 
with  you?  I've  found  that  it  is  often  advisable  on 
cases  of  this  kind  to  have  outside  help  from  some  of  the 
detective  agencies,  and,  of  course,  the  city  can't  be  ex 
pected  to  put  up  for  that  kind  of  work,"  he  went  on 
to  explain. 

"Sure,  we  brought  some  of  the  needful  along,  and  if 
it  costs  five  hundred  dollars,  we  can  put  it  up  without 
going  back  to  the  cellar  for  more,"  Weaver  announced, 
to  the  surprise  of  the  Professor,  who  thought  that  all 
they  would  need  in  the  way  of  cash  was  enough  to  pay 
hotel  bills. 

"That's  the  talk,"  the  officer  assured  them.  "Now 
you  gents  just  give  me  your  hotel  address — haven't  got 
that  far  yet?  Well,  I'll  fix  you  out,  and  you  may  ex 
pect  to  hear  from  me  almost  any  time."  He  drew  a 
pad  to  him,  scribbled  a  note,  placed  it  in  an  envelope, 
licked  the  flap,  sealed  it,  penciled  a  superscription  and 
handed  the  envelope  to  John. 

"Give  that  to  Mr.  Holtz  and  you  will  be  well  taken 
care  of — yes,  the  Holtz  House  is  just  around  the  corner 
and  one  block  south — you  can't  miss  it.  It's  a  good 
place.  Good-day,  gents." 

On  the  way  to  the  Holtz  House,  Henry  exploded. 
"Why,  John,"  he  exclaimed,  "that  brute  talked  as  cool 
as  if  we  had  only  lost  a  yearling  calf,  confound  him ! 
Set  there  and  never  even  blinked  when  you  told  him  the 
villains  had  put  up  such  a  game  on  an  innocent  girl. 
Why,  damn  that  man,  his  looks  alone  would  get  him 
hung  in  a  decent  neighborhood  if  they  were  looking  for 
a  criminal.  And  him  directing  the  police  force!  Why, 

man,  he's  a  drunkard,  and  he's  dirty,  and  his  eyes . 

John  Saunders,  you  never  want  on  your  soul  what  I 


THE  FIRST  ALARM  183 

saw  in  that  man's  eyes.  I  wonder  if  there  ain't  some 
other  police  shop  we  can  go  to?  One  where  there  is  a 
decent  man  in  charge?" 

"No  use  kicking  now,"  the  Professor  insisted. 
"Our  case  will  be  booked  and  have  every  attention.  And 
you're  wrong  if  you  think  that  officer  directs  the  police 
force.  He's  a  sort  of  clerk  to  the  department ;  enters 
up  the  cases  and  reports  them  to  the  central  station." 

"Suppose  he  don't  report  our  case?  I  tell  you,  John, 
I  wouldn't  trust  that  man  half  as  far  as  I  could  throw 
old  Baker's  bull  by  the  tail;  another  thing,  I'd  like  to 
know  what's  inside  that  envelope  he  gave  you ;  if  I  had 
it  I'd  see — but,  I  reckon,  you  couldn't  be  induced?" 

"Not  me,"  the  Professor  answered,  laughing,  and 
remarked:  "It  wouldn't  need  to  be  sealed  so  far  as  I 
am  concerned." 

"All  right,  we'll  go  to  this  Mr.  Holtz  hotel,  but  you 
can  bet  that  this  chicken  isn't  going  to  turn  himself 
over  to  the  police  department,  not  entire.  I've  heard 
some  things  about  them  since  I've  been  on  earth  this 
time  that  makes  me  fairly  hungry  to  see  what's  inside 
that  envelope ;"  he  looked  hard  at  John,  but  as  that  gen 
tleman  did  not  appear  to  be  of  a  yielding  disposition 
where  his  integrity  was  touched,  Henry  closed  the  dis 
cussion  with  this  observation:  "Anyway,  I'm  going  to 
keep  my  eye  peeled,  and  I'd  advise  you  to  forget  there 
ever  was  a  God  while  you  are  on  this  case,  and  you'll 
be  better  able  to  discuss  business  with  the  average  man 
we'll  run  up  against  in  this  city." 

There  were  but  few  guests  in  the  office  of  the  Holtz 
House  when  John  handed  the  note  Sergeant  Mike  had 
given  him  to  the  sleek  youth  who  stood  behind  the  desk. 
This  young  gentleman,  who  sported  two  well-grown 
"Alaskan  Diamonds,"  and  parted  his  abundant  crop  of 
hair  into  two  fluffy  mats  of  black,  took  the  envelope,  and 
after  looking  carefully  at  the  address,  called:  "Martin, 
Oh,  Martin;  here's  a  note  from  Mike!" 

Martin  Holtz,  a  rotund  little  man  of  middle  age,  who 
supported  a  long-established  baldness,  and  saw  things 
through  a  pair  of  sharp  black  eyes,  waddled  around  be 
hind  the  counter,  examining  the  men  from  the  country 
at  his  leisure  as  he  went.  He  took  the  note  from  the 
clerk,  glanced  at  it  for  a  moment,  then  at  the  visitors, 


184  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

read  it  through,  swung  the  register  around,  and  reached 
out  a  hand.  "Glad  to  see  you,  gentlemen.  Yes,  register 
there;  how  long  will  you  stay?  Oh,  that's  all  right. 
We'll  fix  you  out  all  right."  To  the  clerk,  he  said,  in 
an  undertone :  "You'd  better  hunt  Bill  up ;  I'll  stay  here 
till  you  get  back." 

As  the  visitors  moved  away  from  the  desk,  Holtz 
took  out  the  note  and  read  it  again. 

"Martin :  I'm  sending  you  two  from  the  grass.  The 
old  fellow's  the  candy.  Take  good  care  of  him.  The 
other  guy's  a  preacher.  They're  here  on  a  girl  hunt. 
Send  Bill  over,  I  want  to  see  him  at  once.  Mike." 

The  particular  "Bill"  Sergeant  Mike  wants  to  see 
deserves  more  than  passing  attention.  He  is  one  of 
those  combination  errand  boys,  hangers-on,  go-betweens 
and  confidential  agents  employed  by  the  grafting  states 
men,  the  bribe-taking  policeman  and  the  business  man 
looking  for  a  chance  to  lose  his  money  and  his  virtue. 
The  number  of  "Bills"  grow  and  fatten  as  public  mor 
als  decay.  The  individual  "Bill"  under  discussion  wears 
clothes  up  to  the  limit  of  his  rake-off  from  week  to 
week.  Raiment  with  him  is  not  a  fixed  possession,  to  be 
worn  until  worn  out — last  month  he  appeared  at  one  of 
the  downtown  hotels  in  full  regalia  of  a  gentleman  of 
fashion;  wore  a  high  hat,  sported  diamonds,  and  took 
his  meals  at  the  "Annex."  This  month  his  headquar 
ters  are  at  the  "Holtz,"  and  his  fine  plumage  of  last 
month  lies  on  a  shelf  at  "Uncle's."  Until  something 
worth  while  turns  up,  this  cog  in  the  great  American 
Politico-graft  Machine  must  content  himself  with  a 
"Dicer"  and  clothes  in  keeping;  all  braced  by  a  brave 
show  of  "phony"  jewels — worn  to  make  a  "front"  be 
fore  those  from  the  green  country  who  bring  with  them 
the  real  long  green  of  commerce. 

Here  comes  our  particular  "Bill."  His  eyes  are  ever 
on  the  move,  cunning,  restless,  daring.  Yes,  daring. 
When  a  coward  knows  a  mischance  but  loses  him  a  vic 
tim,  knows  that  behind  him  all  the  machinery  of  crime 
and  a  goodly  part  of  the  State's  machinery  for  the  detec 
tion  of  crime  is  ready  to  offer  him  asylum — why  should 
he  fear?  When  he  went  up  to  the  desk  and  asked  what 
was  vvTt.rrl  after  reading  the  note,  he  simply  remarked 


THE  FIRST  ALARM  185 

that  it  looked  good ;  then  turning  to  survey  trie  room 

asked:     "Where's  the  blokes?" 

#  #  *  #  *  * 

"The  thing  that  surprised  me,"  John  was  saying,  as 
the  two  sat  apart  in  the  lobby  of  Holtz  Hotel,  "is  your 
interest  in  this  case,  Henry.  Is  there  anything  back  of 
it?"  Henry  Weaver  let  his  eyes  rest  upon  the  throng 
passing  upon  the  opposite  side  of  the  street.  He  did 
not  move  for  what  seemed  to  John  an  hour.  When  he 
did  look  at  his  companion,  his  face  was  alight. 

"Yes,"  he  admitted.  "There's  something  behind  it; 
a  good  deal  behind  it."  Hesitating  again,  his  blue  eyes 
sought  the  opposite  side  of  the  street.  When  next  he 
turned  to  John  it  was  to  say:  "1  never  told  a  soul  in 
my  life,  Professor,  and  I  never  expected  to,  but  bein's 
you  and  me  is  hooked  up  in  this  case,  and  bein's  how 
I'm  going  to  stay  with  it  until  I  know  what's  happened 
to  Stella,  I'm  going  to  tell  you."  Again  he  hesitated. 
"Provided  you  promise  never  to  say  a  word." 

"On  my  honor." 

"Then  here  goes.  When  Grace  Ward  was  a-goin' 
on  fifteen,  I  went  to  work  for  one  of  the  neighbors  and 
I  planned  from  the  first  time  I  seen  her  to  have  that 
gal.  Times  I  lost  hope,  an'  again  I'd  perk  up  some. 
She  was  as  lively  as  a  cricket,  and  didn't  need  to  do 
anything  but  refuse  the  first  half-dozen  fellows  as 
asked  her  to  go  anywhere,  always  knowin'  they'd  be  as 
many  more  waitin'  the  chance.  That  went  on  for  three 
years,  and  most  of  the  boys  got  kind  of  tired,  but  I 
stuck  to  it,  and  either  went  with  Grace  or  went  alone. 
Well,  at  the  end,"  he  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe 
and  leisurely  refilled  it,  "at  the  end  of  the  three  years 
I  seemed  to  have  things  my  own  way  and  was  happy. 
Why,  man,  I  wouldn't  have  traded  my  buckboard  and 
little  fly  mare  and  my  hope  of  finally  bringing  Grace  to 
say  'Yes'  for  all  the  world.  Then  big  Jim  Davis,  from 
over  the  river,  got  sight  of  my  song  bird."  He  fell  si 
lent  again,  the  Professor  was  looking  straight  out  at 
the  building  over  the  way.  "Yes,  I  took  her  to  him.  It 
was  this  way:  I'd  heard  they  was  having  a  rip-roarin' 
revival  over  to  the  Zion  church  on  the  other  side  of 
the  river,  'bout  twelve  miles  from  the  corner  where 
Grace's  folks  lived,  an'  I  was  so  proud  of  Grace  and 


l86  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

my  rig,  it  was  sleighing  and  I  had  a  cutter,  that  Iwant- 
ed  to  show  off,  and  Grace  was  a  sight  to  sec ;  tump, 
rosy-cheeked,  big  brown  eyes,  and  the  sweetest  augh. 
Well,  we  went.  I  left  her  standin'  at  the  gate  -nile  I 
put  the  horse  up,  then  we  went  in  and  stood  by  ne  of 
the  big  stoves  while  Grace  unwrapped.  My,  bul  was 
proud !  Nothing  there  could  beat  her,  and  that  vis  the 
trouble.  We 'went  back  to  a  seat  and  it  just  happen  1  that 
the  usher  showed  us  into  a  long  pew  almost  full.  Grace 
went  in  ahead  and  sat  down  by  the  man  she  mrried 
three  months  later.  He  looked  at  her  with  all  h  eyes, 
and  whispered  to  me  about  one  thing  and  anotbr,  but 
all  the  time  he  kept  looking  at  Grace.  When  tb  meet 
ing  was  over  he  helped  me  get  my  horse  andtucked 
Grace  in ;  by  that  time  he  knew  where  she  live  and  a 
good  deal  more.  Grace  seemed  sort  of  quic  going 
home,  but  two  nights  later,  she  wanted  to  go  bck  and 
I  didn't,  but  we  went.  And  as  sure  as  I  live  tfct  Jim 
Davis  was  a-waitin'  t'  help  her  out  and  I  guess  b  asked 
her  whilst  I  was  putting  the  horse  away  if  he  juldn't 
come  and  see  her ;  anyway,  he  came,  and  I  put  u  a  los- 
in'  fight;  but  I  tell  you  I  stuck  to  it  to  the  la.s  I  re 
member  one  night  in  the  early  spring  I  went  >ver  to 
Wards'  and  Grace  sent  word  down  that  she  \*s  sick, 
but  I  stayed  because  I  knew  her  mother  liked  ic,  and 
didn't  like  Davis.  Finally  Grace  came  downsters  and 
just  stuck  her  head  into  the  door  and  said:  'I-enry,  I 
want  to  see  you  a  minute ;  only  a  minute/  'On!  a  min 
ute?'  I  says,  'when  I've  been  waiting  hours?'  iie  tried 
to  laugh,  but  didn't  make  much  of  it,  and  when  -e  were 
out  on  the  porch  she  up  and  told  me  she'd  romised 
to  marry  Jim  Davis,  and  it  was  coming  off  in  aaonth.*' 

The  Professor  turned  his  keen  eyes  upon  te  older 
man. 

"Well,  Professor,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  hve  just 
been  completely  horns  waggled,  but  I  warn't.  I'  know'd 
she  couldn't  hold  out  against  such  lovin'  as  jig  Jim 
Davis  put  up.  I  knew  I  loved  her  better;  I  kt*\v  that; 
but  I  couldn't  take  her  in  my  arms  and  jusi  squeeze 
the  breath  out  of  her  and  kiss  her  a  dozen  tnes  and 
her  a  sayin'  'Don't,  don't,  don't'  every  time  :>e  could 
get  her  breath.  That's  the  way  big  Jim  loved  icr,  and 
got  her;  and  I  loved  her  so  much  I  couldn't  go  gin  her 


THE  FIRST  ALARM  187 

word,  even  when  I  knew  she  didn't  mean  it,  and  I  lost 
her.  When  she  told  me  and  I  didn't  seemed  surprised, 
she  looked  at  me  kind  of  funny  and  said  :  'I  thought  you 
loved  me  ?'  Then,  I  seemed  to  sense  that  it  was  all  over, 
and  I  just  caught  her  up  in  my  arms  and  kissed  her  and 
told  her  how  I  had  always  loved  her,  and  if  big  Jim 
ever  kissed  her  oftener  or  hugged  her  harder  it  was  be 
cause  he  was  a  bigger  man,  and  she  never  said  'don't' 
once."  The  narrator  drew  a  hand  across  his  mouth  and 
chuckled.  "Well,  when  I  let  her  go  she  looked  up  at 
me  the  queerest  and  says:  'Henry,  why  didn't  you  do 
that  before?'  'Because  I  have  been  fool  enough  to  be 
lieve  you  didn't  want  me  to,  not  because  I  didn't  want 
to,'  I  answered.  She  patted  me  on  the  shoulder  and 
said:  'Never  mind,  Henry,  there's  half  a  dozen  nice 
girls  in  this  neighborhod  who  will  jump  at  the  chance 
of  marrying  you.'  Then  I  told  her  there  would  never 
be  another  woman  in  this  world  given  the  chance  to  say 
either  'Yes'  or  'No'  to  me,  and  I  meant  it.  Well,  Jim 
married  her  and  in  a  couple  of  years  they  moved  to  the 
new  town,  when  the  railroad  went  through,  but  he  never 
done  well,  though  he  did  love  Grace  and  the  babies. 
When  they'd  been  married  about  ten  years,  I  went  over 
to  the  town  to  live  and  to  look  after  some  property  I  had 
there.  Then  Jim  died  and  I  helped  straighten  things  out, 
and  got  the  family  into  the  little  home  they  have." 

"Why  in  the  world  didn't  you  marry  the  widow?" 
the  Professor  asked. 

"Well,  that  was  the  queer  part  of  it,"  Henry  admit 
ted,  in  a  low  voice.  "First  oft  I  thought  to  myself  as 
soon  as  Grace  got  kind  of  quieted  down  I'd  go  over  and 
kind  of  commence  where  we'd  left  off  out  on  her  folks' 
porch  away  back  there,  but  the  more  I  thought  of  it  the 
more  I  found  I'd  quit  loving  her  right  there  and  then. 
I'd  just  been  a  good  friend  since,  that's  all.  Well,  I 
went  over  several  times,  intendin'  each  time  to  see  if  I 
couldn't  get  the  old  feelin'  back,  but  I'll  be  hornswaggled 
if  it  'ud  come.  I'd  just  plum  as  lief  gone  out  and  kissed 
her  cow,  mind  you,"  he  looked  up  to  frown.  "Grace 
Davis  is  a  plum  good-looking  woman,  only  I  loved  a 
girl,  a  bright-faced,  brown-eyed  girl,  with  dimpled  chin 
and  the  reddest  cheeks  and  lips,  the  same  as  I  kissed 
that  night  on  the  porch;  and  seems  it  don't  matter  how 


l88  MILLS  OF   MAMMON 

old  I  grow,  my  love  always  stays  young."  Again  silence 
fell.  Bill  sauntered  by,  took  their  measure  and  went  on 
to  report.  "Been  a  long  time  getting  around  to  present 
time ;  eh,  Professor  ?"  Henry  smiled. 

"What?" 

"I  say  it's  takin'  me  a  long  time  to  tell  what  brought 
me  into  this  case,  but  I  was  layin'  a  proper  foundation, 
as  them  lawyer  chaps  keeps  a-sayin'  in  court."  The  pipe 
was  out  again ;  slowly  this  ever-young  old  lover  of 
fifty-five  refilled  it,  and  when  its  glow  had  been  revived 
he  settled  back  in  the  big  rocker.  "Seems  like  a  fool 
thing  to  say,  and  I  tell  you  beforehand  that  I  ain't  no 
excuses  to  offer,  and  ain't  never  had  no  hopes  nor  noth 
in'.  But,  I've  loved  Stella  ever  since  she  put  on  dresses 
to  her  shoe  tops." 

"Loved  Estella?"  The  Professor  turned  square 
around.  "Loved  Estella?"  he  repeated,  to  which  Henry 
nodded,  and  blew  a  ring  whirling  and  dipping  toward 
the  lighter  currents  of  air  above. 

.  "Them's  the  words,  Professor.  She's  the  duplicate 
of  what  her  mother  was  as  a  girl,  only  she's  got  all  of 
Jim  Davis'  rock-bottom  principles  along  with  her  moth 
er's  body  and  spirits."  He  looked  closely  at  the  Profes 
sor.  "But,  John,  you  want  to  understand  that  I  haven't 
been  no  fool.  I  knowed  this  love  of  mine  was  billed  to 
the  same  port  as  the  old  one ;  besides,  I'd  never  have  the 
chance  to  stand  on  no  back  porches  with  her,  but  I  jest 
naturally  worship  the  ground  she  walks  over,  and  I 
don't  ask  nothin'  else.  If  I'd  had  the  gumption  of  a 
louse  when  I  was  courting  her  mother,  Stella  would  of 
been  my  daughter,  and,  well,  maybe  that  would  of  been 
too  much  happiness  for  one  man." 

"I  wish  to  God  Estella  was  your  wife  to-night," 
John  answered. 

"Do  you  now?"  the  other  questioned,  with  an  odd 
smile.  "Well,  John,  it's  too  much  to  ask  and  I'm  not 
asking  anything,  but  as  true  as  I  believe  in  God,  I  don't 
give  up  the  hunt  until  I  find  her  or  them  that's  made 
away  with  her."  He  arose,  his  clinched  hands  tight 
gripped.  "I  ain't  up  to  date  on  city  ways,  even  if  I 
have  seen  some  of  the  world,  and  I'm  suspicious  we 
ain't  started  right,  but  by  the  Holies,  John,  I  ain't  got 
nothin'  else  to  live  for,  but  that  poor  innocent  child." 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

A  COUNTRYMAN  HELD  UP. 

Mike,  police  sergeant,  protector  of  morals,  guide  to 
the  ignorant  and  guardian  of  innocence,  had  not  waited 
patiently  the  appearance  of  Bill  Jenks.  "There's  many  a 
slip  'twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip,"  even  in  the  skinning  of 
"greens;"  therefore  his  face  expressed  even  more  of 
satisfaction  than  his  grunt,  when  Bill  stepped  into  the 
station. 

"What's  on  ?"  the  latter  demanded  abruptly. 

"If  it's  worked  right,  there's  plenty  on,"  Mike  as 
sured  him  and  asked,  "did  you  see  the  guys?" 

"Sure  thing;  put  my  lamps  on  'em  the  minute  I  got 
into  the  house,  but  what's  the  lay?" 

"That's  easy.  You  see,  Bill,  a  girl  comes  to  town 
about  two  or  three  weeks  ago  and  gets  pinched  by  one 
of  the  'board  of  trade,'  and  her  sorrowing  parents  sends 
these  two  guys  with  a  roll  of  money  and  the  girl's  photo 
graph  in  here  today." 

"Well,  it's  a  cinch  they  wouldn't  know  the  girl  by 
her  photo  if  they  found  her  now,"  Bill  winked  knowing 
ly.  "Not  if  Pagan " 

"Cut  it  Bill !"  Mike's  hand  fell  upon  "Bill's"  mouth 
with  some  emphasis.  "What  th'  hell  you  want  to  men 
tion  names  here  for?" 

"Beg  pardon,"  the  other  stammered ;  "I  forgot." 

"An'  you  ain't  got  notfhin'  to  do  but  remember — see? 
If  you're  going  to  see  this  lead  to  the  end  you  want  to 
be  always  on  the  lookout."  Bill  nodded  acquiescence, 
and  Mike  proceeded.  "I've  turned  the  case  in  regular 
and  everything  will  be  according  to  specifications,  but 
the  guys,  bein'  apt  to  git  restless  while  the  department's 
tryin'  to  git  started,  I  want  you  to  fix  up  a  little  enter 
tainment  on  the  side  for  the  missionaries.  Suppose  you 
git  a  couple  of  th'  boys  to  go  over  to  the  hotel  and  offer 
to  help  them  find  the  girl ;  they  can  explain  how  slow  we 

189 


ICK>  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

are  over  here.  Oh,  I  don't  need  to  tell  you  that  don't 
I  ?  Get  two  good  men ;  have  them  fixed  so  these  guys 
couldn't  swear  to  them  in  case  of  a  slip  up,  then  go  down 
to  one  of  the  women  on  that  list  and  fix  with  her  to  have 
the  farmers  visit  there  with  the  fly-cops  and  when  they 
ask  after  Estella  Davis,  why  put  up  a  good  song  and 
have  them  promise  to  produce  her,  say  tomorrow  night, 
for  five  hundred  dollars.  If  it's  worked  right,  they  will 
'bite  like  the  bedbugs  in  the  hold-over.  Now,  git  out  and 
git  the  thing  moving.  I  get  two  hundred  dollars,  you 
get  one  hundred  and  the  woman  gits  two  hundred.  Now 
mosey  and  earn  the  money.  There'll  be  more  where  that 
comes  from  before  we  get  through  with  the  case/'  Mike 
assured  Bill  as  the  latter  left  the  little  coop-like  office. 

In  two  hours,  under  directions  from  Desk  Sergeant 
Mike,  the  machinery  of  crime  had  been  oiled,  the  net 
spread,  and  all  made  ready.  After  supper,  the  oily  clerk 
tapped  Henry  on  the  shoulder. 

"Is  this  Mr.  Saunders?"  he  inquired. 

"No,  that's  the  chap."  Henry  pointed  a  thumb  toward 
a  lone  figure  at  a  window. 

"A  telephone  call  for  you,  Mr.  Saunders."  The  oily 
clerk,  with  a  face  full  of  pimples  and  a  head  full  of  sin, 
slipped  back  to  the  counter.  John  went  to  the  phonr. 

"Is  this  Mr.  Saunders?" 

"Yes,  who  is  this?" 

"Police  department  may  want  you  at  any  time  from 
now  up  to  12  o'clock,  keep  close  to  the  hotel." 

"All  right,  thanks ;  am  glad  to  know  you  have  things 
moving." 

"Oh,  she's  moving  some,"  Mike  answered  before 
hanging  up  the  receiver,  and  John  wondered  what  it  was 
that  induced  a  laugh  at  the  other  end. 

"Henry,  they've  got  things  moving  some  over  at 
headquarters;  just  keep  your  eyes  open."  Henry  looked 
up  at  the  professor  and  smiled.  "I'm  a-giving  theta  gents 
something  to  look  at.  They  been  here  'bout  half  ;,n  hour, 
an'  as  near  as  I  can  figure,  they  want  to  make  my  ac 
quaintance,  an'  maybe  yours,  too." 

"But,  why  are  you  counting  all  that  mone>  ^" 

"Countin'  it?  Cause  it  seems  to  do  them,  chaps  a 
power  of  good  to  watch  me.  Look  into  that  mirror  right 
in  front  of  me,  an'  see  'em  both  in  there  jest  as  pJain  " 


A   COUNTRYMAN    HELD   UP  IQI 

'  1  don't  see  what  you're  driving  at,  Henry."  The 
professor  was  both  puzzled  and  anxious. 

"Why,  I'm  settin'  stakes  to  tie  a  couple  of  tin-horn 
sports  to,  that's  what.  Think  I  been  from  Bangor,  Me., 
to  the  City  of  Mexico,  and  up  the  coast  to  Alaska,  and 
circulatin'  around  through  the  interior  of  Denver,  Kan 
sas  City,  and  St.  Louis,  to  come  into  this  metropolis  to 
be  robbed,  shanghaied,  sandbagged,  badgered,  doped  or 
any  of  them  things?"  He  went  on  counting  his  money 
quietly  and  as  naturally  as  though  he  were  safe  at  home. 
A  fat  leather  bill-book  lay  upon  a  chair  beside  him, 
while  in  his  hands  were  bills  of  various  denominations. 
John  leaned  over  the  back  of  his  chair,  not  the  least 
interested  spectator  by  any  means. 

The  two  men  who  were  on  watch,  the  oily  clerk  and 
several  other  gentlemen,  amongst  them  some  honest  men, 
were  being  attracted  to  the  money  center,  when  Henry 
quietly  took  a  pile  he  had  counted  off,  doubled  it  up  and 
shoved  it  into  a  vest  pocket. 

"I  reckon  that  ought*  to  be  enough  to  bring  them,  an' 
if  they  want  any  more — "  he  got  up,  "well,  they'll  come 
after  it  I  reckon.  Let's  go  an'  take  a  look  at  our  bunk." 

When  the  two  were  in  their  room,  Henry  shook  his 
fist  at  the  Professor,  saying,  "I  wish  I  had  taken  that 
letter  away  from  you.  You  can  say  what  you  please,  but 
I  tell  you  that  police  officer  an'  this  hotel  ain't  healthy 
people  or  places  for  greenhorns.  An'  I'll  bet  you " 

"For  heaven's  sake,  man,  don't  talk  so  loud ;  they  can 
hear  you  all  over  the  house,"  John  pleaded. 

"I  reckon  that's  right,"  Henry  admitted.  "But,  I'll 
be  hornswaggled  if  I  ain't  gettin'  mad  inside.  Why, 
when  them  two  gents  came  in,  they  took  special  pains  to 
examine  every  man  there,  an'  when  they  took  us  in  they 
made  signs.  I  seen  it  all  in  that  mirror.  When  you 
went  over  to  telephone,  they  grinned  and  kept  an  eye  on 
me.  Then,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  jest  draw  them  out. 
That's  why  I  was  a  countin'  money  so  all-fired  promis 
cuous  when  you  come  back." 

"See  here,  Henry;"  John's  voice  was  serious.  "I 
can't  put  up  any  argument  against  what  you  say,  be 
cause  I  don't  know  any  more  of  the  world  than  a — well, 
than  any  other  country  boy.  I've  been  in  the  school  room 


IQ2  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

since  I  was  5  years -old,  but  if  you  are  right,  let's  get 
away;  there  are  lots  of  hotels." 

"Not  for  me,"  the  other  exclaimed ;  then  catching  the 
professor  by  the  shoulders,  he  asked,  "see  anything  that 
looks  like  quit  in  my  eyes?  I  never  in  my  life  refused 
to  give  a  man  value  received,  an'  I've  gone  up  against 
all  the  games  they've  got.  Why,  John,  if  I  had  on  city 
clothes  them  guys,  who's  a  waiting  for  us  down  in  the 
office,  would  just  take  a  sneak.  It's  the  clothes  they  see, 
an'  if  they  want  to  see  more,  I'm  a-going  to  show  them 
a  man  the  clothes  didn't  make." 

"You're  not  going  to  run  into  danger,  when  we  have 
this  case  on  hand,  are  you?" 

"John,  I  haven't  said  anything  to  you  about  my  sus 
picions,  and  I  don't  want  to  now.  But  I  believe  the 
only  way  to  find  a  trace  of  Stella  is  'to  run  into  danger 
as  you  call  it." 

"Then  you  don't  believe " 

"Don't  ask  me  what  I  don't  or  do  believe;  you  keep 
close  to  the  police.  I'm  going  to  keep  close  to  them  fel 
lers  down  in  the  office,  if  it  costs  a  thousand  dollars." 

A  bell  rang ;  the  indicator  pointed  to  visitors,  and  the 
two  went  down  to  the  office.  Henry  went  to  the  desk, 
another  clerk,  the  night  man,  had  come  on  duty. 

"A  couple  of  gentlemen — there  they  are  over  by  the 
long  table — called  for  you."  The  guest  turned,  and  fol 
lowed  by  John,  went  over  to  the  long  table. 

"Are  you  the  gentlemen?"  John  inquired. 

"Well,  that  depends,"  one  of  the  men  answered.  "We 
are  detectives,  and  our  agency  discovered" — he  handed 
each  a  card — "that  a  disappearance  case  had  been  given 
to  the  police  today.  If  you  are  the  parties  who  are  in 
the  city  to  prosecute  an  investigation,  we  are  certainly 
anxious  to  make  your  acquaintance." 

During  this  speech,  the  Professor  had  stood  as  one 
stunned.  These  were  the  men  he  had  seen  in  the  mirror 
earlier  in  the  evening. 

"You  fellers  certainly  know  your  business,"  Henry 
began.  "You  certainly  do;  and  what  might  I  call  you?" 

The  man  who  had  not  spoken,  now  got  into  the  game. 

"This  is  Mr.  Johnson,  and  my  name  is  Brawn,  just 
plain  Brown,"  with  a  smile. 


A  COUNTRYMAN    HELD   UP  193 

"An'  this  is  Professor  Saunders;  and  my  name's 
Weaver,  gents ;  let's  set  down  and  talk  things  over." 

Seated,  the  four  were  soon  deep  in  the  discussion  of 
the  case  on  hand. 

"While  I  haven't  a  word  to  say  against  the  police," 
Brown  informed  them,  "I  must  insist  that  they  have  so 
much  routine  work  on  hand  that  this  sort  of  case  don't 
get  the  attention  it  should." 

"I  more  than  suspected  that,"  Henry  agreed. 

"I'm  glad  you  appreciate  the  situation,"  Brown  con 
tinued;  "and  I  assure  you  our  agency  goes  at  things  of 
this  sort  differently,  why,  it's  our  business." 

"How  much  would  it  cost  us  to  have  you  two  men 
oh  the  case?"  the  Professor  inquired. 

"Well,  that  depends  upon  how  we  work.  You  see, 
the  agency  has  detailed  us  on  this  case.  If  we  make  a 
bargain  with  you  to-night,  we  simply  report  the  terms 
and  go  ahead." 

"Gee  whiz !  They  must  trust  you  two,"  Henry  ob 
served,  and  he  did  not  fail  to  catch  an  expressive  look 
passed  between  them. 

"Yes,  they  trust  us.  In  fact,  we  are  the  best  men  on 
the  force ;  isn't  that  about  it,  Brown  ?"  said  Johnson. 

"About  it,"  Brown  admitted. 

"Now,  as  to  terms,"  he  went  on.  "We  could  not  take 
up  the  case  for  less  than  thirty  dollars  per  day." 

"Thirty  dollars?  Why,  we  can't  pay  any  such  price 
as — "  the  Professor  began,  when  Henry  nearly  took  his 
breath  by  declaring: 

"Well,  gents,  you're  hired,"  and  reaching  into  a  vest 
pocket,  he  extracted  some  bills.  "Here's  the  money  that 
pays  you  up  to  this  time  tomorrow  night." 

The  detectives  were  almost  as  much  surprised  as  the 
Professor.  Before  they  had  recovered,  Henry  was  say 
ing: 

"Now,  we  got  started;  just  you  two  remember,  I've 
got  one  thousand  dollars  for  each  of  you  on  the  side,  the 
day  you  put  me  and  my  niece  in  the  same  room,  if  it's 
only  for  ten  minutes.  An*  remember  this,  too,  I'm  go 
ing  to  have  enough  money  here  by  the  middle  of  next 
week  to  see  this  thing  through ;  so  it's  up  to  you  to  get 
busy.  An'  here's  the  plan  we  go  to  work  on.  You  two 
get  thirty  dollars  every  night  as  long  as  I  am  satisfied 


194  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

you're  working.  If  you  find  the  girl  by  next  Monday 
and  bring  her  to  a  place  in  the  city  I'm  going  to  pick 
out,  you  each  get  one  thousand  dollars  besides  your 
wages.  If  you  get  her  by  next  Saturday  you  get  seven 
hundred,  and  if  it  takes  two  weeks  you  only  get  five  hun 
dred  dollars." 

The  two  detectives  looked  at  each  other  in  a  manner 
that  conveyed  to  each,  the  fact  that  the  other  was  com 
pletely  at  sea. 

Turning  to  Henry,  Brown  said :  "Mr.  Weaver,  your 
offer  is  a  most  liberal  one,  and  there  are  some  features 
about  it  that  are — are,  well,  are  unprecedented.  If  you 
gentlemen  have  no  objection  I  should  like  to  have  a  pri 
vate  conversation  with  my  partner,"  but  he  hesitated. 
"Would  you  mind  producing  proof  that  you  can  pay  this 
reward  or  bonus  on  the  spot?" 

For  answer,  Henry  took  from  a  pocket  a  bunch  of 
letters  and  books,  amongst  them  a  bank  book,  showing  a 
deposit  of  six  thousand  dollars  with  the  Corn  Exchange 
Bank. 

"Now  go  and  have  your  confab,  and  come  back  as 
soon  as  you  can,"  he  admonished  them  as  they  got  up. 
"And  in  the  meantime,  as  the  contract  ain't  closed,  why 
just  hand  me  that  retainer." 

The  detectives  reached  into  their  pockets,  extracted 
the  bills  and  left  the  lobby.  When  they  were  gone,  John 
seemed  to  wake  from  a  dream. 

"What  does  this  mean,  Henry?  I  never  heard  any 
one  call  you  a  rich  man,  but  you  certainly " 

"Have  just  tended  to  my  own  business.  Why  John, 
what's  money  to  me?  I  could  give  them  two  devils  ten 
thousand  dollars  and  never  blink,  if  they'd  only  get 
Stella  back." 

"But,  I  thought  you  were  afraid  of  them;  thought 
they  were  crooks  ?"  the  puzzled  professor  protested. 

"So  I  was;  an'  so  I  do,"  the  other  affirmed.  "An' 
I  was  bound  to  show  them  that  this  time,  at  least,  there'll 
be  more  money  in  it  for  them  ten  times  over,  if  they  help 
us,  than  they  could  get  by  tryin'  to  skin  me." 

"Mr.  Saunders  is  wanted  at  the  police  station,"  the 
night  clerk  announced.  "I  hope  you  have  your  way  with 
them,  and  Henry  I  want  to  thank  you." 

"Now,  you  go  along,  I  ain't  doing  nothin'  but  making 


A   COUNTRYMAN    HELD   UP  IQ5 

myself  happy  in  circumventin'  some  folks  and  a-helping 
others,  but  don't  you  breathe  a  word."  Henry  pushed 
him  away. 

In  the  wine  room  back  of  the  hotel  bar,  two  men  were 
staring  hard  at  each  other  over  their  beer  glasses.  Each 
anxious  to  be  sure  the  other  would  agree  to  accept  the 
offer  Mr.  Weaver  had  made  them,  which  meant  break 
ing  with  -those  who  were  slated  to  divide  up  all  the 
money  they  might  bunco  him  out  of,  or  steal  from  him. 
To  go  in  to  win  this  one  thousand  each,  they  must  play 
a  double  game.  Both  were  hungry  as  starved  wolves  for 
this  pile,  dangled  before  them,  and  they  felt  confident, 
each  of  his  ability  to  find  the  girl  and  that  within  twen 
ty-four  hours.  Yet,  neither  dared  speak.  The  beer 
glasses  were  emptied  and  refilled,  and  still  not  a  word. 

"This  can't  last  always,"  Johnson  managed  to  say 
after  a  third  glass.  The  other  looked  at  him  keenly. 

"Shall  we  toss  a  coin?  Heads  we  go  in  for  the  big 
stake,  tails,  we  play  Mike's  game."  He  extracted  a  dol 
lar  from  his  pocket,  then  Johnson  put  a  hand  over  the 
coin. 

"If  I  could  trust  you,"  was  all  he  said. 

"I  don't  owe  Mike  a  cent,"  Brown  answered. 

"Then  put  up  the  coin !  Here's  my  hand,  and  may 
the  devil  fly  away  with  me  if  we  don't  win  that  thousand. 
But  how  about  Mike?  He'll  expect  his  two  hundred 
plunks  first  off,  Monday  morning.  He  knows  the  man's 
got  'em  and  we're  supposed  to  take  'em  away  from 
him." 

"I  know  that,"  Johnson  replied,  "and  I'm  working 
my  head  overtime.  Oh,  if  we  could  just  lay  the  plant 
out  before  Mr.  Weaver,  but  that  'ud  be  asking  too  much. 
I  can't  see  the  way  out  now ;  anyway,  we  have  until  to 
morrow  night." 

"Well,  let's  go  up  and  cinch  the  thing.  It's  too  good 
to  lose ;  and  say ;  if  we  get  next  to  the  girl  by  to-morrow, 
well,  we  can  divide  the  money  and  give  Mike  what  he 
asked." 

Henry  Weaver  sat  dreaming  of  many  things  after  his 
detectives  and  the  Professor  had  gone;  the  girl  he  had 
loved,  the  daughter  who  had  taken  her  place  in  his  heart, 
then  of  the  men  who  had  gone  to  some  quiet  spot  to  re 
arrange  the  game  to  suit  the  conditions  he  had  proposed. 


196  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

He  knew  his  bid  was  higher  than  any  that  had  been  of 
fered  them  by  those  who  employed  them  to  rob  him.  He 
argued  that  even  these  men  would  prefer  to  be  honest 
and  deal  on  the  square  if  the  money  consideration  was 
greater  on  the  side  of  honesty  than  the  reward  offered 
for  dishonesty.  He  also  knew  if  these  men  were  in 
league  with  criminals  and  could  be  won  over  to  his  cause, 
they  would  be  the  best  servants  he  might  choose.  He 
was  still  dreaming  of  the  days  to  come,  days  in  which  he 
might  enjoy  seeing  this  old,  new  love  of  his  living  in 
comfort,  when  the  detectives  returned.  Johnson  wafs 
spokesman  for  the  pair. 

"Mr.  Weaver,  we  have  decided  to  take  your  offer,  but 
would  like  to  have  you  extend  the  time  on  that  one 
thousand  dollars  until  Tuesday.  You  see,  this  is  a  case 
that  may  take  more  time." 

"Make  it  Tuesday,  gents ;  make  it  Tuesday,  and  re 
member,  I'm  ready  to  make  it  even  a  greater  inducement 
for  you  to  hustle ;  I  want  this  girl  tomorrow,  if  possible, 
the  next  day  sure,  and  you  get  five  hundred  dollars  ex 
tra,  five  hundred  for  each  of  you,  if  the  girl  is  found  by 
Monday.  The  one  thousand  dollars  holds  good  until 
Tuesday  evening.  It's  one  thousand  five  hundred  each  in 
cold  cash  if  you  get  her  by  Monday  night." 

"One  thousand  five  hundred  each!"  Johnson  ex 
claimed.  "Well,  Brown,  we  don't  want  to  waste  any 
time  now."  Both  men  arose. 

Weaver  took  out  his  fat  bill  book.  "Gents,"  he  said, 
"I  reckon  ready  money's  as  strong  a  talker  where  you 
are  going  to  look  for  Stella  as  it  is  on  Wall  street,  and 
I  want  you  to  be  in  shape  to  meet  any  argument." 

The  two  looked  at  each  other  in  a  way  that  said: 
"This  is  the  limit,"  and  said  it  plainly.  Brown  tried  to 
get  his  faculties  to  work  and  failed.  Johnson  rubbed 
his  hands  and  smiled,  but  seemed  at  a  loss  for  words. 

"Boys,  I've  been  'round  the  world  an'  know  about  all 
the  games  man  or  woman  gets  up  against."  Henry  stood 
facing  the  two.  "An'  I  want  you  two  to  understand  to 
night  that  I'm  prepared  to  play  this  game  to  the  limit.  I 
want  this  little  girl ;  I  know  about  what's  happened  to 
her.  If  she's  alive,  I  want  her ;  if  she's  dead,  I  am  a-go 
ing  to  have  revenge  on  them  that  murdered  her.  I  can 
pay  you  more  to  help  me  than  them  that's  hiding  her 


A   COUNTRYMAN    HELD   UP  197 

will  pay  you  to  help  them  keep  her  and  rob  me."  Both 
men  held  up  protesting  hands.  'That's  all  right,"  Henry 
went  on,  "that's  all  right,  I  ain't  askin'  questions.  All 
I  want  from  you  is  a  square  deal.  If  you  had  a  job 
planned  and  ought  to  carry  it  out  in  order  to  keep  the 
others  in  the  dark,  spit  it  out.  I  ain't  no  spring  chicken, 
an'  I'd  go  through  hell  to  find  the  girl."  The  men  were 
uneasy.  Here  wa-s  a  man  who  knew  more  in  a  minute 
than  they  had  supposed  he  would  know  when  they  were 
through  with  him.  What  should  they  do?  If  he  would 
consent  to  be  robbed  in  order  to  protect  them,  well,  it 
would  give  them  a  better  opportunity  to  handle  the  case. 

"Well  ?"  Henry  uttered  the  one  word  and  waited. 

"Damn  me,  Mr.  Weaver,  you've  got  the  best  nerve 
I  ever  run  up  against!" 

Johnson  extended  his  hand,  but  Brown  seemed  so 
stunned  he  did  not  even  look  up. 

"Out  with  it  gents ;  let's  get  down  to  business.  Time's 
going,  and  I'm  considerable  impatient  to  see  the  game 
moving;"  he  motioned  Brown  to  a  seat. 

"Mr.  Weaver,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  we  were  sent 
here  to  get  you  into  a  sort  of  panel  game,  but,  when  we 
found  you  were  on  the  square  and  would  put  up  the  coin 
if  given  a  fair  show,  well,  we  decided,  Brown  and  I,  to 
throw  the  other  side  and  stand  by  you.  But,  if  you 
would  go  with  us  tonight  and  let  them  separate  you 
from  about  three  hundred  dollars,  it  would  put  us  on 
easy. street  in  this  game.  We  could  pass  the  word  that 
you  were  out  of  funds,  but  would  try  and  get  some  more 
and  that  would  end  all  attempts  to  bilk  you  for  a  time 
and  leave  us  in  the  field,  then  we  could  get  right  down 
to  work  on  the  case." 

"That's  all  that's  necessary,"  their  employer  informed 
them.  "I've  got  something  like  six  hundred  dollars  here. 
You  each  get  one  hundred  to  use  as  you  see  fit.  I'll 
salt  one  hundred  dollars  if  you'll  excuse  me  a  minute, 
and  I'll  go  up  against  this  little  game  as  has  been  fixed 
for  me." 

Brown  whistled.  "I'll  be  literally  clawed  into  cat 
meat,  if  this  isn't  a  plant  ?"  He  burst  out  when  Weaver 
had  gone  to  his  room.  "What  do  you  think  of  him  any 
way,  Bob  ?  Had  us  twigged  to  a  fare-you-well  from  the 
word  go,  and  up  and  buys,  and  sits  in  to  play  both  ends 


198  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

against  the  middle.  Well,  I'll  be  damned!"  He  jumped 
up.  "I  never  in  my  short  existence,  heard  of  such  a 
thing." 

"And  you'll  live  another  long  time  before  you  get 
next  to  another  like  him.  Why,  Billie,  he's  simply  it. 
Talk  about  rigging  him — Peter  at  the  gate's  a  slouch 
beside  that  old  rounder."  Brown  reached  over  and 
tapped  his  partner  on  the  shoulder.  "I  feel  that  wad, 
something  like  two  thousand  in  good  bills,  resting  against 
my  heart.  Why,  it's  easy." 

"Ought  to  be  when  Weaver  is  willing  to  play  both 
sides,"  Johnson  replied  as  Weaver  left  the  elevator  and 
came  toward  them. 

"All  right,  gents ;  let's  be  going.  I  don't  want  to  pass 
too  much  money  to  you  here  or  they  might  ask  you  some 
mighty  embarrassin'  questions  tomorrow."  At  which 
speech,  a  very  comprehensive  look  passed  between  the 
detectives  as  the  trio  went  out  into  the  night. 

If  Desk  Sergeant  Mike  had  known  that  Estella  Davis 
was  one  of  Pagan's  victims,  he  would  hardly  .have  set 
tled  upon  one  of  her  joints  as  the  place  in  which  Henry 
Weaver  was  to  be  relieved  of  his  money,  and  could  Pagan 
have  safely  refused  the  honor  thus  thrust  upon  her, 
Weaver's  two  allies  would  not  have  found  a  warm  trail 
so  soon.  Pagan  had  remonstrated,  but  the  persuasive 
powers  of  Jenks  overcame  her  scruples  and  things  were 
put  in  readiness  for  the  reception  of  the  victim. 

It  was  almost  10  o'clock  when  Tom  -bounded  into 
Pagan's  room. 

"They  landed  the  guy  and  he's  down  in  the  saloon 
now.  Where's  it  to  be  pulled  off?"  he  inquired  breath 
lessly. 

"Over  at  Mary's  place;  she's  half  moved  out  now, 
and  by  the  time  the  police  get  next,  the  place  will  be 
empty." 

"Who's  over  there  ?"  Tom  asked. 

"  'Red'  Kate  and  Cora.  I'll  go  right  over ;  you  keep 
them  for  a  few  minutes." 

Pagan  went  out  the  back  way  and  Torn  returned  to 
the  bar.  Thirty  minutes  later,  Weaver  and  the  detectives 
•were  in  Mary's  flat  on  a  neighboring  street.  Pagan 
wore  a  veil,  and  to  more  effectually  hide  her  identity,  sat 
in  a  dark  corner.  Johnson  opened  the  interview  'by  in- 


A    COUNTRYMAN    HELD    UP  199 

troducing  Mr.  Weaver,  then  he  and  Brown  left  the  room. 

''Who  is  this  girl  you  want  to  see?"  Fagan  asked. 

"Estella  Davis/'  Weaver  replied,  his  voice  shaking 
with  emotion. 

"And  if  I  were  to  tell  you  she  is  in  this  house,  within 
a  few  feet  of  you,  what  would  you  say?" 

'I'd  thank  God,  Madam,  and  bless  you,  if  you'd 
just  let  me  see  her  for  ten  minutes. 

"You  want  to  take  her  with  you,  don't  you  ?" 

"Certainly,  I  want  to  take  her,"  he  answered. 

"Well;"  Pagan's  voice  was  level  and  firm.  "Estella 
Davis  is  here,  but  before  you  can  see  her  or  take  her 
with  you,  there's  a  little  matter  of  board  -and  other  ex 
penses  to  be  settled  for." 

"How  much  ?" 

"Five  hundred  dollars." 

But  woman,  I  haven't  got  five  hundred  dollars,  and 
I  don't  know  as  I  could  get  that  much."  Henry  was 
chuckling  inwardly;  the  first  test  he  had  put  his  men  to 
had  not  failed.  Five  hundred  dollars  was  the  price  set 
<on  his  head,  they  had  scaled  the  price  to  three  hundred 
and  would  lie  like  pirates  in  substantiation. 

"How  much  have  you  ?" 

"Well,  I've  got ".  he  took  out  his  bill  book  and 

counted  out  the  money;  "two  hundred  and  eighty  dol 
lars  here  and  they's,"  he  fumbled  in  his  vest  pockets, 
"twentv-five  dollars  here,  but  I  got  to  have  five  dollars 
for  the  hotel  anyway."  He  looked  intently  at  Fagan. 

"Three  hundred  dollars,"  Fagan  could  not  hide  her 
greed.  "That's  less  than  I  ought  to  take,  but  if  it's  all 
you  have — "  She  held  out  her  hand. 

Henry  walked  over  to  her,  holding  the  three  hun 
dred  dollars  between  his  fingers. 

"If  I  give  you  this  money,  what  assurance  have  I 
that  I  get  what  I'm  paying  for?"  shaking  the  bills. 

"Every  assurance,"  she  answered,  still  reaching  for 
the  money.  "Didn't  you  come  here  with  two  detectives. 
What  chance  have  I  to  play  any  game  on  you?'; 

"By  crackey;  I  forgot  them  detectives."  He  shoved 
money,  fist  and  all  into  a  pocket.  "What's  to  hinder  me 
from  a-demaiidin'  that  the  girl  be  produced  and  a-orderin' 
them  detectives  to  take  her  out  of  here?" 

Fagan  scowled.     "Lots  to  hinder,"  she  assured  him. 


2OO  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

"Thev  'have  no  warrants  for  my  arrest  nor  for  this  gir? 
and  Ions:  before  they  can  get  one,  I'll  have  her  safe 
enough,  even  from  your  detectives." 

"I'm  going  to  call  them  in ;"  he  started  for  the  door. 

"Stop  right  there,  Mr.  Weaver,  you  either  settle  with 

me  here  and  now "  She  tapped  the  bell  and  "Red" 

Kate  appeared.  "Send  Tom  and  Walter  here,  and  if  I 
tap  this  bell  again,  take  Estella  Davis  to  the  place  I 
told  vou  of."  The  woman  stood  irresolute  and  seemed 
on  the  point  of  saying  something  on  her  own  account, 
when  Fagan  started  toward  her,  saying,  "Get  out  of  here 
and  do  as  I  tell  you!"  Red  Kate  disappeared. 

"Now  what  do  you  intend  to  do?"  Fagan  demanded. 
"You  either  fork  over,  or  you  don't  see  the  girl.  And  1, 
warn  vou,  that  if  you  attempt  to  leave  this  room,  I'll 
send  your  Estella  where  you  won't  see  her  in  a  while." 
Tom  and  Walter,  two  as  unprepossessing  bouncers  as 
one  would  meet  in  a  good  while,  entered  the  room  and 
stood  on  either  side  the  door  grinning  at  the  gray-haired 
victim.  "What  do  you  say  Mr.  Weaver?'"  Fagan 
stood  with  outstretched  hand,  her  fingers  twitching  to 
feel  the  money. 

"As  it  seems  to  be  up  to  me,  I  guess  about  all  I  need 
to  say  can  be  said  by  this  here  money."  He  pulled  out 
the  handful  of  bills  and  placed  them  'on  Fagan's  out 
stretched  palm,  while  the  bouncers'  grins  almost  gave 
forth  sound.  Fagan  took  the  money  to  the  flaring  gas, 
counted  it,  and  turned  to  the  men :  "There's  even  three 
hundred  here.  Is  that  right,  Mr.  Weaver?" 

"That's  all  I  got,"  Weaver  answered. 

"All  right,  sit  down  and  I'll  get  the  girl." 

Faean  left  the  room  and  was  followed  by  the  grin 
ning  bouncers.  A  key  turned  in  the  lock ;  Weaver 
iumoed  uo  with  an  odd  oath,  and  bounded  to  the  door; 
it  was  locked.  He  raved,  kicked  and  stormed  while  the 
actors  in  the  late  drama  scuttled  from  the  place  like  rats 
from  a  burning  crib.  For  a  time,  Weaver  had  forgotten 
his  r>art.  The  thought  had  come  to  him  that  Estella 
mieht  have  been  hidden  there,  and  so  wrapped  was  he 
in  his  purpose,  that  he  had  forgotten  that  all  of  this  had 
been  planned,  that  he  was  but  aiding  two  of  the  semi- 
crkninals  of  the  city  to  play  safe.  When  it  all  came  back 
to  him,  he  sat  under  the  flaring  gas  and  buried  his  face 


A   COUNTRYMAN   HELD   UP  2OI 

in  his  hands.  After  a  time,  the  key  grated  and  Weaver 
pulled  a  revolver  from  his  boot  leg  and  stood  waiting. 
The  door  opened  and  Johnson  thrust  his  head  in. 

"Coast  clear?"  he  whispered.  Weaver  pocketed  the 
revolver  and  nodded.  "I  hated  to  leave  you  so  long,  Mr. 
Weaver,  but  we  got  onto  a  warm  trail  here  and  I  had  to 
'help  Brown  get  started." 

"Was  she  here?" 

"No,  not  here,  but  that  woman  had  her,  and  we  know 
who  got  her  away  from  Pagan,  and  Brown's  gone  on 
that  pipe."  Johnson  was  almost  breathless. 

"Now,  partner,  let's  get  out  of  here.  But  first  we 
must  bust  the  door  from  this  side,  so  you  could  get  at 
the  key  from  the  outside.  Then,  I'll  make  off  and  you 
get  down  on  the  street  and  raise  the  dead.  Yell  for  the 
police  and  keep  it  up  until  some  one  conies.  Then  to 
morrow  morning  at  10  o'clock  you  come  to  that  ad 
dress  ;"  he  handed  Weaver  a  card,  but  it  didn't  bear  the 
name  of  a  detective  agency,  "and  be  sure  no  one  is  on 
your  trail.  You  see,  we  don't  dare  to  s'how  up  at  the 
hotel  again  and  no  one  is  to  know  that  you  faave  anything 
to  do  with  us." 

"And  you  think  you  will  get  the  girl?"  Weaver 
asked. 

"Sure  of  it,  and  she'll  be  right  as  a  rivet  when  we 
find  her.  Mark  what  I  tell  you.  Weaver,  you  are  go 
ing  to  have  the  pleasure  of  handing  over  that  three 
thousand."  Johnson  laughed. 

"All  right,  you'll  find  me  happier  to  hand  it  over 
than  I  was  to  give  that  she-devil  the  three  hundred,  I 
can  tell  you  that." 

"Say,  that  was  a  plant,  and  you  certainly  did  the 
innocent  act  to  the  queen's  taste." 

The  door  was  broken  and  Johnson  had  been  gone 
for  fully  five  minutes  when  Henry  made  his  way  to  a 
hall  window  overlooking  the  street  and  lifted  his  voice 
to  shout,  "Thieves!  Thieves!  I've  been  robbed!  I've 
been  robbed !" 

Midnight  traffic  halted,  pedestrians  gathered  in  knots 
upon  the  pavement  and  in  the  street.  The  police  were 
called  and  soon  Henry  Weaver  was  explaining  to  po 
lice  and  citizens  just  what  sort  of  a  game  had  been 
worked  on  him.  The  door  bore  evidence;  the  deserted 


2O2  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

flat,  more  eloquent  testimony.  At  the  police  station,  He 
told  his  story  and  took  his  way  to  the  hotel. 

Fagan  lost  no  time,  but  sent  a  trusted  messenger  to 
Madame  Vaughn's.  The  doorkeeper  protested  that 
Madame  had  long  since  retired;  the  messenger  insisted 
that  there  was  no  time  to  waste;  Madame  had  to  have 
the  message  that  night. 

"Get  Estella  Davis  out  of  your  house;  the  police 
have  made  a  mess  of  things,  and  have  got  me  where 
there's  a  chance  that  this  girl's  relatives  will  be  down  on 
me.  Will  explain  later."  This  was  the  message  Madame 
read.  She  sent  for  the  doorkeeper  and  asked  him  if 
Mr.  Johnson  was  in  the  house.  He  was.  Well,  he  must 
be  called  at  once.  Tell  him  Madame  must  see  him  im 
mediately.  Estella  was  awakened  by  the  ringing  of  the 
bell. 

"Wake  up,  there's  a  fire  or  something ;"  she  reached 
over  and  kissed  him. 

"What  in  blazes  is  that  infernal  bell?" 

"Oh,  don't,  James.  Shall  I  get  up  and  find  out  what's 
wanted  ?" 

"No,  you  keep  still.  Maybe  they've  pulled  the  house." 
He  was  out  of  bed  and  had  partially  dressed.  "Confound 
that  bell;  do  they  think  we  are  dead?" 

"Pulled  the  house,"  Estella  repeated  to  herself.  "Now 
I  wonder  what  that  means?  Can  it  be  fire?"  She  too 
got  up. 

At  the  door,  Joel  was  in  earnest  conversation  with 
some  one.  He  looked  around  and  saw  Estella  coming 
toward  him. 

"Go  back  to  bed,  Stell,  the  house  isn't  afire;  but 
Madame  wants  to  see  me ;  must  be  something  the  matter 
at  home."  And  he  was  gone. 

"Do  you  want  to  keep  that  plaything  of  yours  ?"  was 
Madame's  first  question. 

"Want  to  keep  her?  Of  course,  I  do.  If  I  didn't, 
do  you  suppose  I'd  have  let  you  milk  me  all  this  time  ?" 

"Well,  if  you  want  her,  it's  up  to  you  to  get  her 
away  from  here  before  daylight.  It's  after  12  now,  and 
her  folks  are  in  town  and  Pagan's  afraid,  so  if  you  want 
her,  you  must  pay  up  and  get  her  out." 

"But  great  snakes,  Vaughn,  I  can't  get  her  out  be 
fore  daylight.  Hell's  fire,  I've  been  rigging  her  with 


A  COUNTRYMAN  HELD  UP  2O3 

the  yarn  that  you  wouldn't  let  her  out  of  your  sight  for 
a  month." 

"Tell  her  I  have  a  tip  that  the  police  are  going  to 
make  a  raid  on  the  house  early  in  the  morning,  and  out 
of  regard  for  her,  I  want  you  to  take  her  to  some  safe 
place." 

"That's  the  cheese,  Vaughn,  great  head,  eh?  Say, 
you  can  trust  me  for  whatever  balance  is  due,  can't 
you?"  Madame  nodded.  "I'll  need  all  I've  got  with 
me,  to  see  this  thing  through." 

In  Estella's  room,  Joel  explained  about  the  forth 
coming  raid,  and  how  he  could  never  risk  having  her, 
his  precious  darling,  found  in  such  a  place,  and  even 
Madame  felt  the  same.  Estella  was  soon  ready  for  flight 
and  in  her  hurry  and  excitement,  forgot  even  her  friend, 
the  only  one  she  had  found  at  Madame's,  and  at  I 
o'clock  she  was  being  whirled  down  town  and  to  one 
of  the  great  depots,  thence  on  an  early  train  to  a  small 
city  in  a  neighboring  state.  Arrived  at  which  place, 
James  Y.  Johnson  and  wife  registered  and  went  to  their 
room. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

MICKEY'S  RELIGIOUS  EXPERIENCE. 

Down  through  the  long,  soot-blackened  shops  an 
army  of  workers  dropped  their  tools  and  scudded  away 
to  seek  their  dinner  pails,  the  measure  of  America's 
prosperity  'tis  said,  before  the  noon  whistle  had  ceased 
its  clamor. 

Out  on  the  shady  side  of  the  casting  shop  Mickey 
and  Charley  found  a  snug  corner  and  sat  down  to 
gether. 

"Well,  Mickey,"  Charley  bantered,  "have  you  got 
that  religion  we  were  talking  about  the  other  day?" 

"Nixie,  not  fer  mine."  The  cripple  looked  up  scowl 
ing,  his  complement  of  teeth  fastened  in  a  tough  hunk 
of  beef.  As  he  pulled,  the  scowl  spread.  "You  see. 
Country,"  he  explained,  when  he  had  finally  swallowed 
the  severed  chunk  at  a  gulp,  "dem  four-flushers  out  at 
de  meetin'  says  as  how  a  man  kin  be  good  all  de  time, 
commencin'  'fore  breakfas'  an*  never  lettin'  up  on  de 
graft  till  he's  sound  asleep,  an'  it  Stan's  f  reason  dey's 
liars." 

"Tut,  tut,  Mickey!  You  don't  know  what  you  are 
talking  about,"  the  other  objected,  "my  mother's  a  Chris 
tian,  and  a  good  one." 

"Did  de  old  lady  pass  any  ov  de  dope  along  t' 
youse?"  the  boy  inquired,  scrutinizing  his  companion 
gravely. 

Charley  smiled,  and  was  about  to  reply,  when 
Mickey  broke  in  with: 

"Chuck  it,  Country.  Youse  maybe  knows  a  heap 
more  'bout  some  things  dan  I  does,  but  youse  don't 
know  how't  tip  off  nothin'  in  de  mertropolis,  an'  dat's 
flat.  Dem  gospel  mills  out  in  de  country  where  dey 
ain't  no  great  sight  ov  nothin'  layin'  'round  loose,  an'  no 
bulls  t'  made  de  game  excitin',  an'  no  mollies  t'  help 
a  feller  blow  de  cush,  may  be  on  de  level — dat  ain't 

204 


MICKEY'S  RELIGIOUS  EXPERIENCE  205 

de  city,  an'  de  city's  differ  enter,  an'  don't  never  let  dat 
git  outen  yer  nut — see?" 

"But  I  don't  see  how  it  is  different,  and  besides " 

"Now  youse's  tellin'  it!  Youse  don't  see,  an'  it's 
all  in  usin'  dese  peepers.  Ain't  I  bin  born  here?  An' 
ain't  I  bin  up  against  all  de  games  on  de  street?  Well, 
den.  Say — I  jist  took  t'  dem  gospel  meetin's  out  t'  de 
mission,  as  youse  so  kindly  asks  me  t'  attend  t',  fer  a 
whole  week  straight.  Missed  seem'  a  bang-up  ballet 
an'  a  hooker  ov  a  Jessy  James  show,  an'  passed  up  de 
Wild  West  layout,  all  t'  accommodate  me  frien'  from 
de  country — an'  say,  I'm  a  givin'  it  t'  youse  straight 
when  I  says  I'm  damned  sorry  I  didn't  go  t'  th'  shows 
an'  let  dem  sky  pilots  alone.  Are  youse  wise?" 

A  very  lame  "No"  was  all  the  surprised  champion 
of  regeneration  could  muster.  That  little  "no"  served 
to  open  the  vials  of  Mickey's  long  suppressed  wrath. 

"No,  Bourse  youse  don't.  WThat  did  them  high- 
collared,  baby  fingered  fellers  an'  der  sister  mollies  tell 
me  th'  first  night  I  goes  out  t'  th'  mission  ?"  He  paused 
to  gather  up  the  thread  of  his  story. 

"Why,  dey  says  cast  yer  bread  on  th'  waters  an' 
she'll  come  back  t'  youse — give  yer  dollars  t'  th  Lord — 
an'  dem  gents  was  a  leggin'  direct  fer  him  fer  they  took 
th'  coin — an'  youse  is  sure  t'  git  it  back  ten  fold.  When 
I  hears  that  I  says,  'I'm  in  on  this  here  game  ef  I've 
got  it  doped  out  right;'  so  I  jist  nudges  a  plump  old 
pussy  as  set  by  me,  an'  asks  what  dat  gittin'  back  ten 
fold  as  dey  wais  work  in'  off  means.  She  says  th'  Lord 
pays  back  ten  fer  one.  That  tip  suited  me  t'  a  T, 
an'  I  plumps  a  dollar  in,  an'  when  de  dealer  sees  what 
I  dropped  in  th'  basket,  he  up  an  inquires  how  much 
change  I  wants — youse  kin  take  it  frum  me,  I  give 
him  th'  glassy  eye.  'I  hain't  no  piker,'  I  tells  him,  an' 
he  lays  his  nice  baby  hand  on  me  nut,  an'  kind  ov  slob 
bers  out,  'God  bless  youse,  God  bless  youse.'  Now  I 
calkalate  youse  hain't  a  goin'  t'  b'leve  me  when  I  tells 
youse  dat  whole  darned  gospel  game  is  a  skin,  an' 
they've  got  th'  bull  on  de  beat  fixed,  all  right,  all  right. 
I  ain't  goin'  t'  git  back  nary  red  [cent  I  put  inter  de 
game,  an'  I  dropped  three  bucks,  an'  waited  till  th'  last 
night  fer  th'  drawin'  t'  come  off. 

"Last  night  that  same  feller  comes  around  lookin' 


206  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

fer  more  of  th'  mazuma — a  givin'  us  his  little  spiel  'bout 
castin'  bread  on  th'  water,  an'  a  lendin'  money  t'  th' 
Lord.  I'd  gone  de  limit,  so  I  up  an'  asks  dem  when 
th'  drawings  t'  come  off — an'  what  d'  youse  'spose  they 
has  th*  nerve  t'  tell  me?  Me,  as  thought  I'd  bin  up 
agircst  all  de  games  in  de  city."  Mickey  stood  before 
'his  audience  of  one  deeply  interested  and  somewhat  puz 
zled  listener  with  clinched  fists  and  blazing  eyes. 

"Well,"  Charley  hesitated,  "I  hardly  know  what  they 
could  have  told  you/' 

"Course  youse  don't,  but  I'll  tell  yer,  on  th'  level, 
Country,  ef  youse  don't  know  no  more  about  other 
games  dan  youse  does  'bout  dis  gospel  business  in  de 
mertropolis,  I'd  advise  youse  not'  t'  recommend  none  ov 
'em  t'  any  more  ov  yer  city  friends,  dat's  all." 

"I  won't,  Mickey,  I  won't,"  Charley  promised,  and 
then  asked,  "What  did  they  tell  you?" 

"Tell  me?  Why  dey  had  de  nerve  t'  tell  me — me, 
Mickey  Dougherty,  dat  I'd  git  me  ten  t'  one  when  I 
got  t'  heaven.  Now  what  'd  youse  think  ov  dat  fer 
pure  gall?  I  wanted  t'  have  de  whole  bunch  pulled, 
but  de  bull's  bin  fixed  all  right,  all  right;  fer  he  says  t' 
me  when  I  tells  him  as  I've  bin  flim-flammed  by  some 
sky  pilots  as  was  runnin'  a  skin  game,  'Go  chase  yer- 
self,  me  little  rooster,  'r  I'll  run  youse  in/ J:  At  the 
close  of  his  speech  Mickey  sat  down  and  attacked  his 
dinner  with  renewed  vigor,  while  Charley  sat  think 
ing. 

Charley  Harris  liked  the  cripple  because  of  his 
straightforwardness,  his  avowed  friendship,  and  the 
many  little  big-hearted  things  he  was  capable  of  putting 
through  for  his  friends.  If  the  whole  truth  must  be 
told  he  liked  him  as  well  for  his  sturdy  defense  of  his 
philosophy  of  life,  even  if  it  did  hold  to  the  ugly,  twisted 
ethics  of  the  semi-criminal  world  in  which  the'  boy  had 
been  chained  since  birth.  On  one  point  his  mind  was 
made  up  quickly.  Turning  to  Mickey  he  said: 

"Mickey,  since  I  recommended  the  game — guaran 
teed  it,  you  might  say — I  feel  in  duty  bound  to  see  that 
none  of  my  friends  lose  money."  He  reached  into  a 
pocket  and  drew  out  a  handful  of  silver.  "Let's  see; 
you  put  up  three  dollars,"  he  had  to  smile  at  the  look 
of  perplexity  on  Mickey's  face,  "and  while  I  can't  make 


MICKEY'S  RELIGIOUS  EXPERIENCE  207 

good  that  gospel  outfit's  promise  of  ten  to  one,  I  am 
willing  to  put  up  five  dollars  to " 

"No  youse  don't,"  the  cripple  interposed,  "I  ain't  no 
welsher,  Country.  I  took  de  tip  an'  played  it  on  me 
own  dope,  an'  I  don't  want " 

"Here,  you  young  limb  of  Satan,  take  the  money, 
it  belongs  to  you."  Charley  reached  over  as  he  spoke 
and  dumped  the  silver  into  Mickey's  dinner  pail.  "Just 
to  hear  your  experience  in  your  first  attempt  to  get 
religion  is  worth  that  much  to  me,"  he  added,  and  as 
Mickey  still  showed  signs  of  rebellion,  he  went  on, 
"Mickey,  old  man,  I  want  you  for  a  friend;  between 
friends  a  money  debt  should  never  stand  for  a  moment 
longer  than  is  absolutely  necessary — and  I  owed  you 
that  five-spot  as  much  as  though  I  had  borrowed  it 
from  you." 

A  grimy,  greasy  hand  was  held  out,  and  as  Charley 
grasped  it  Mickey  whispered  hoarsely,  "Country,  youse 
is  white,  an'  I'm  goin'  t'  call  youse  Charley  like  th'  rest 
ov  th'  gang  does." 

Charley  laughed,  and  Mickey  made  good  in  his  next 
speech. 

"On  de  level,  Co — Charley,  I  didn't  give  up  de 
gospel  jist  becos  dem  guys  was  a  runnin'  a  con  game 
on  de  money  end  ov  de  biz.  Youse  see,  it's  dis  way: 
I  knows  dey's  lots  ov  hold-outs  in  all  de  games,  an' 
dey's  some  dat's  square,  an'  ef  de  rest  ov  de  gospel  game 
had  'a  bin  on  de  level — why  shucks !  I'd  a  hunted  up 
a  square  game  an'  played  me  coin,  but  de  whole  works 
is  rotten." 

"How's  that?"  Charley  asked. 

"Why  dis  way :  De  main  guy  says  all  anybody  frum 
a  molly  t'  a  porchclimber  has  got  ter  do  is  t'  say,  'I've 
foun'  Jesus,'  'r  some  sich  magic  biz  as  dat,  an'  to  oncet 
all  de  sins  dey  ever  did  is  washed  away.  Now  youse 
kin  take  it  frum  me  dat  I  carried  dat  aroun'  in  me  nut 
till  de  load  hurt  frightful.  Yes,  sir,  I  carried  dat  fer 
three  days  an'  nights  'fore  I  chucked  it.  Why,  tain't 
reasonable  t'  'spose  dey's  anybody  as  is  runnin'  sich  a 
bargain  counter  up  to  heaven, — an'  it  ain't  no  square 
deal  no  how.  Fer  why,  here's  me — an'  I  ain't  had  no 
body  t'  put  me  wise  t'  dis  bargain  counter  biz  till  youse 
comes  an'  butts  in — an'  ef  de  thing's  on  de  level,  an5 


208  MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

they  ain't  no  other  way  ov  my  gettin'  inter  heaven  'cept 
I  goes  through  de  gospel  mill — why,  ef  I'd  a  croaked 
last  month,  'r  when  I  was  hurt  dat  time,  wouldn't  I  a 
gone  plump  t'  hell?  An'  ef  I'd  gone  t'  that  bargain  sale 
an'  got  religion  an'  hollered  'I've  got  it!  I've  got  it-' 
like  I  hears  them  a  whoopin'  it  up  out  dere,  an'  didn't 
have  t'  make  good  t'  all  de  folks  what  I  swiped  things 
frum,  an'  lied  to,  an'  so  forth,  seems  t'  me  de  thing 
wouldn't  wash.  Jist  seems  that  there  way  t'  me.  Seems 
t'  me  God  'ud  say,  'Youse  is  a  purty  cheap  skate,  son,' 
seems  that  there  way  t'  me.  But  one  ov  dem  singin' 
fellers  made  it  plain  dat  all  a  guy  has  ter  do  t'  git  right 
in  a  front  row  in  their  heaven  is  t'  fess  up.  Jist  fess 
up,  an'  God  'ud  let  de  meanest  cuss  in  'Chi'  crowd  right 
up  t'  de  desk  an'  begin  singin'." 

"In  the  name  of  all  the  saints,  what  sort  of  a  crowd 
did  you  get  into?"  Charley  demanded,  and  inwardly  re 
solved  to  go  out  and  see  for  himself. 

"They  was  mostly  batty,  Cou — Charley,  an'  three  of 
dem  old  bats  jist  did  deir  turn  de  night  I  puts  in  me 
second  buck — why,  one  ov  dem  had  killed  his  wife  by 
inches.  He  says  so  hisself,  an'  dey  ain't  nobody  a* 
givin'  him  th'  third  degree,  neither, — it  was  most  as 
good  as  a  play.  The  next  cuss  as  comes  out  had  blast- 
feemed,  whatever  dat  is,  an'  had  robbed  a  sick  pard  ov 
hisn  ov  thousands  ov  dollars  in  a  minin'  deal,  an'  dem 
galoots  never  did  have  t'  make  good  t'  nobody  but  God. 
Nixie  fer  deirs !  All  any  ov  dem  had  t'  do  was  t'  say, 
'Jesus,  I  b'leve,'  'r  some  sich  rot  as  dat,  an'  all  deir 
cussed  doin's  was  washed  away  in  de  twinklin'  ov  a 
eye — an'  God's  eye  at  dat. 

"When  dey  gits  all  through  a  spoutin'  an'  dem  sis 
ters  has  quit  amenin'  an'  shakin'  dem  bats'  mitts,  an' 
things  gits  still  I  up  an'  asks  de  one  as  robbed  his  pard 
ef  th'  pard  was  alive.  He  gits  up  an'  says,  a-turnin' 
to  them  sisters:  'Dear  sisters  an'  brothers,  he's  alive 
t'  th'  flesh  but  dead  t'  God.  He's  still  in  sin,  an'  hasn't 
found  th'  blood  of  Christ  a  balm  t'  his  soul,'  'r  some 
sich  flummydiddle  as  dat. 

"Then  I  asks,  fer  I  was  interested,  an'  besides  I 
had  money  in  de  game — I  says :  'Mister,  when  youse 
got  religion  in  your  soul  did  youse  pay  dat  pard  th' 
money  youse  stole  frum  him?'  Youse  ought  t'  have 


MICKEY'S  RELIGIOUS  EXPERIENCE  209 

seen  dem  old  mollies  turn  up  deir  noses  at  me.  An'  he 
says,  'No,  me  young  frien',  I  didn't  need  t'  do  dat,  fer 
God  fergived  de  debt.'  'Say/  I  asks  him,  Mid  God 
really  an'  truly  pass  him  th'  coin  ?'  " 

"Say,  Mickey,  what  are  you  giving  «me?  You  didn't 
butt  in  on  those  gospel  people  like  that,  did  you?" 
Charley  asked,  smiling. 

"Sure  t'ing  I  did.  Ain't  I  got  me  money  on  de 
game  ?  An',  you'd  never  b'leve  it  less'n  I  told  youse,  dat 
geezer  as  robbed  his  pard  tries  t'  make  out  he  don't 
know  nothin'  'bout  what  I'm  a-tryin'  to  pass  t'  him 
till  a  old  mollie  puts  it  t'  him  straight,  an'  den  he  says 
to  me,  'No,  me  brother,  God  does  not  handle  th'  filthy 
lucre,  an'  so  far  as  me  poor  sin-cussed  pard  's  con- 
sarned,  I'm  'fraid  his  portion  in  th'  life  beyond  th' 
grave'll  be  in  th'  lake  ov  fire/  an'  th'  dirty  welsher 
begins  t'  leak  somethin'  dreadful. 

"I  up  an'  asks  quick  as  a  wink,  'Say,  Mister  Whats- 
yername,  don't  youse  think  now  dat  youse  is  bin  put  wise 
t'  de  gospel  game,  ef  youse  was  ter  take  th'  money 
youse  smouched  frum  yer  pard,  an'  jist  handed  it  t' 
him,  an'  den  told  him  'bout  this  here  new  deal,  dat  he'd 
take  de  tip?'" 

"He  was  plum  beat  out,  Charley,  an'  I'd  a  had  de 
count  on  him  in  no  time  but  some  ov  dem  old  hen  sis 
ters  who's  gone  soft  on  his  nibs  begins  t'  sing  'Jesus,  He 
Paid  it  All/  an'  th'  guy  gits  his  wind  an'  stands  there 
a-pattin'  his  hands  an'  a-smilin'  t'  dem  mollies  as  fixed 
it  fer  him.  But  I  just  stood  dere  a-waitin'  fer  th'  next 
round,  even  ef  dey  did  try  t'  call  me  down. 

"When  dem  old  hens  quits  a-cacklin'  long  'nuff  t' 
give  him  a  chanst  he  hes  his  story  all  fixed,  an'  turns 
t'  me  an  says,  Th'  song  tells  th'  whole  story,  me  young 
frien' — Jesus  paid  it  all — all  t'  him  I  owes — sin  had  left 
a  grimy  stain  but  she's  washed  witer'n  snow/  an*  a  lot 
ov  slush  like  dat. 

"When  I  goes  fer  him  hard  an'  wants  t'  know 
things,  he  says  it  don't  make  no  kind  ov  diff' rence  what 
a  bloke  has  done — murder,  steal,  lie, — any  ole  thing 
goes.  He  don't  have  t'  square  hisself  with  nobody  fer 
nothin'.  An'  jist  as  soon  as  he's  got  deir  kind  ov  re 
ligion  he's  good  fer  a  scalper's  ticket  straight  t'  heaven. 
Den  ef  th'  poor  cuss  he  stole  frum  an'  lied  to  'r  did 


2IO  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

anything  like  a  thousan'  other  devlish,  low-down,  mean 
things  to,  still  stays  mad  an'  wants  a  square  deal,  wants 
this  here  religious  bloke  t'  do  th'  square  thing  by  him 
on  this  here  earth — why,  it's  th'  feller  as  wants  de  square 
deal  as  goes  plump  t'  hell,  an'  th'  welsher  goes  t' 
heaven.  An'  th'  times  dey  has  up  dere!  Nuttin'  t'  do 
but  prance  ''round  in  circus  close,  an'  eat  an  sing,  an* 
drink  milk  outen  a  river  dat  flows  right  by  de  captain's 
desk — say,  deys  got  a  warm  pipe,  all  right,  all  right." 
Mickey  got  up,  carefully,  placed  a  battered  lid  on  an 
equally  battered  dinner  pail  and  looked  off  into  the  blue 
as  he  added: 

"Dem  gosple  folks  takes  dope,  an'  I  wouldn't  be 
s'prised  ef  dey  was  pulled  fer  hittin'  th'  pipe  one  ov 
dese  here  days — dey's  nuttin'  to  it.  Youse  may  hev 
nuther  kind  ov  religion  in  de  country,  but  it  stan's  t' 
reason  dat  dey  hain't  no  God  whose  goin'  t'  send  the 
feller  as  has  bin  robbed  an'  had  other  things  done  t' 
'him  t'  hell,  an'  give  th'  robber,  an'  murderer  a  nice 
easy  graft  in  heaven,  jist  'cause  he  blubbers  a  few  min 
utes  an'  saddles  all  his  cussedness  off  onto  Jesus  Christ 
— why,  I  ain't  God,  an'  I'll  be  damned  ef  Mickey 
Dougherty  'ud  put  up  with  sich  a  gummy  mess  ov 
welshers  an'  four-flushers  as  dem  people  is.  Bet  yer 
life,  I  wouldn't!  Ef  I  was  God  I'd  say,  'Here,  youse 
reprobates,  'fore  youse  gits  t'  prancin'  'round  a-tellin' 
what  all  I'm  a-goin'  t'  do  for  youse,  youse  git  out  an' 
square  up  with  dem  as  youse  robbed  an'  murdered  an' 
things.'  Bet  yer  life  I'd  make  'em  hit  de  grit,  an'  as 
they  went  down  th'  line  I'd  give  'em  me  toe  an'  tell 
'em  I  wasn't  runnin'  no  bargain  counters  fer  blokes  ov 
deir  kidney;  dem  is  things  Mickey  Dougherty'd  do  ef 
he  was  God." 

Then  the  whistle  blew. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A  WORKER'S  DEATH. 

The  throb  and  hum  of  systematized  industry  in  the 
long  .casting  room  at  Holdon's  was  at  full  tide  when 
something  went  wrong  with  the  head-block  on  one  of 
the  great  side  cranes.  A  mass  of  molten  metal  in  "No. 
i"  was  ready  to  be  drawn,  and  the  cable  was  found  to 
be  caught  in  the  block,  thus  preventing  the  swinging  of 
the  big  ladle  to  receive  its  charge.  The  foreman,  almost 
beside  himself,  in  an  emergency  that  threatened  both 
danger  to  the  men  and  the  loss  of  the  charge  as  well, 
ordered  the  electric  traveling  crane  brought  down  from 
the  other  end  of  the  long  building.  At  the  same  time 
he  ordered  the  mast  of  the  side  crane  thrown  over  close 
to  the  girder  that  carried  the  traveling  crane,  in  order 
that  a  workman  might  get  at  the  head-block  after  being 
carried  up  on  the  electric  crane. 

As  the  crane  came  down  the  shop  on  its  two  broad 
tracks,  Price  happened  to  look  in,  and  seeing  all  the  men 
at  "No.  I,"  together  with  some  of  the  other  employes 
in  that  end  of  the  shop  standing  idle,  he  rushed  in  and 
demanded  of  the  foreman  at  "No.  i"  what  he  was  do 
ing.  The  oath  that  accompanied  the  superintendent's 
question  caused  an  ugly  look  to  settle  over  Williams' 
face,  and  he  did  not  lift  his  eyes  as  he  gave  the  in 
formation  asked  for. 

"Here,"  Price  shouted,  beckoning  one  of  the  men. 
"You,  Johnson.  Come,  be  lively.  Get  hold  of  that 
chain  and  when  he  pulls  you  up  high  enough  crawl 
through  the  cage  and  out  over  the  track,  and  see  what's 
the  matter  with  the  cursed  thing.  Hurry !" 

Johnson  had  no  sooner  caught  the  chain  and  gotten 
his  foot  in  the  loop  he  had  formed  for  it,  than  Price 
gave  the  signal  to  hoist,  and  the  worker  was  on  his 
way  to  the  girder  above. 

Clambering  up  through  the  cage  he  made  his  way 
211 


212  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

over  the  trucks  of  the  crane,  and  perched  upon  the  track 
was  soon  at  work  getting  the  cable  back  into  its  groove. 
He  was  probably  two  minutes  at  the  job  when  Price, 
fuming  at  the  delay  this  mishap  was  causing,  bellowed 
an  ill-sounding  name  at  him  and  advised  him  to  hurry. 
The  superintendent's  lips  had  hardly  formed  the  last 
brutal  word,  when  Johnson  signaled  Williams  that  the 
job  was  finished,  and  the  next  instant  was  crawling  over 
the  trucks  of  the  great  crane. 

The  operator  in  his  cage  under  the  crane  could  not 
see  the  man  above  as  he  swung  himself  past  the  for 
ward  wheels  of  the  truck,  so  when  Price  gave  him  a 
signal  to  move  the  crane  back  he  threw  on  the  current. 
Instantly  there  came  to  the  ears  of  the  workers  a  scream 
of  agony,  and  as  they  looked  up  Johnson  was  seen  strug 
gling  between  the  trucks.  The  operator  threw  off  the 
current  and  stood  with  blanched  cheeks  and  trembling 
'body  looking  at  Price  for  orders. 

When  caught  between  the  trucks  Johnson  had  fallen 
face  down.  His  legs  lay  across  the  track ;  his  body 
supported  by  his  hold  upon  a  brace  rod  he  had  caught  as 
he  fell.  WThen  the  men  below  looked  up  at  his  first  cry 
they  were  quick  to  see  his  perilous  position  and  called 
out  to  him  to  hold  on. 

"My  God,  my  God  1"  he  kept  crying,  while  his  blood 
streamed  down  from  the  girder  and  formed  a  little  pud 
dle  on  the  hard  packed  clay  floor.  The  men  looking  up 
into  his  staring  eyes,  shuddered  as  they  saw  him  shaken 
with  pain — saw  his  struggles  to  release  his  right  leg 
from  the  crushing  weight  of  the  truck.  Charley  Harris 
and  Mickey  had  quitted  their  work  and  rushed  down  to 
the  furnace  at  the  first  agonized  cry. 

Coming  up  behind  the  superintendent,  Charley 
touched  him  on  the  arm  and  asked:  "Why  isn't  some 
une  sent  up  to  help  him?" 

Price  turned,  scowling,  and  throwing  up  his  hand 
demanded  to  know  who  in  hell  was  running  the  plant. 
The  operator  understood  his  motion  to  mean  that  he 
\vas  to  go  ahead,  and  with  shaking  nerves  turned  on  the 
current. 

The  crunching  of  bone  under  tons  of  steel,  and  the 
cry  of  a  human  soul  in  torment  answered  Price's  ques 
tion  as  Johnson's  body  came  plunging  down  head  first, 


::•:': 


A  WORKER'S  DEATH  213 

a  clear  fall  of  twenty  feet.  In  unison  with  the  impact 
of  the  worker's  body  on  the  hard  floor  a  groan  went  up 
from  the  throats  of  a  hundred  men. 

A  moment  of  silence,  save  for  the  footfalls  of  run 
ning  men,  fell  upon  those  within  sight  of  the  tragedy. 
The  maimed  form  lying  at  Charley's  feet  did  not  move. 
He  fell  upon  his  knees  as  one  of  the  men  brought  the 
legs,  which  had  fallen  a  little  distance  from  the  body, 
and  pulled  Johnson's  head  around  until  he  could  see 
his  face,  while  Mickey,  crouched  by  the  body  of  the  man 
who  had  been  his  friend,  looked  squarely  into  the  eyes 
of  the  man  he  believed  was  responsible  for  the  death 
of  the  worker. 

"Well?"     Price  uttered  this  one  word,  a  question. 

Charley,  looking  up,  answered:  "Dead,"  and  began 
straightening  the  body  out,  but  paused  as  he  heard  Price 
shouting  at  the  men  who  had  crowded  up  from  all  parts 
of  the  shop: 

"What  do  you  men  think  this  is,  a  holiday?  Get 
back  to  your  work,  all  of  you.  Get  back,  I  say!" 

"I  can  git  back  quick  enough  without  you  putting 
your  hands  on  me,"  a  burly  moulder  protested  as  Price 
pushed  him  back.  The  men  were  moving  back  slowly 
when  Price  turned  to  Charley: 

"Get  up  from  there  and  go  back  to  your  job,"  he 
ordered,  curtly. 

"But  some  one  ought  to  stay  with  him — the  coro 
ner,"  Charley  insisted,  and  was  interrupted  by  the  super 
intendent. 

"Coroner  be  blowed."  Noting  that  Charley  seemed 
unconvinced,  he  proceeded  to  enlarge  upon  the  theme. 

"No  sniveling  coroner's  jury  gets  to  sit  on  this  case. 
And,  my  man,  my  advice  to  you  is  to  forget  it ;  do  you 
understand  ?" 

"No,  we  don't  want  no  coroner's  jury  on  dis  here 
case,"  Mickey's  shrill  voice  piped  up.  "Not  when  Mick 
ey  Dougherty 'd  swear  de  'supe'  killed  'him.  No,  we  don't 
want  no " 

"What's  that,  you  young  devil?"  Price  panted,  as  he 
made  an  effort  to  put  hands  on  the  cripple. 

Safe  at  the  feet  of  the  dead  man  Mickey  replied: 
"Jist  what  I  sed,  d'youse  hear  me!  Youse  killed  him, 
an'  dese  rfbre  men  knows  it."  The  cripple  had  taken 


214  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

his  e>es  off  the  superintendent  for  an  instant  as  he 
waved  a  hand  toward  the  men.  In  that  instant  Price 
had  cleared  the  body  at  a  single  bound,  and  before  any 
one  of  the  men  could  interfere,  had  knocked  the  boy 
down  and  was  kicking  him  viciously,  when  Charley, 
with  an  oath,  his  first  in  many  months,  pulled  Price 
away  from  the  boy.  By  this  time  the  workers  were 
crowding  back  to  the  scene  of  the  morning's  tragedy, 
and  among  them  came  the  big  moulder  who  had  objected 
to  being  pushed  back  but  a  few  minutes  before.  When 
he  saw  the  boy  lying  motionless  on  the  floor,  he  pushed 
his  way  through  the  crowd  until  he  stood  in  front  of 
the  superintendent.  There  was  murder  in  his  eyes;  a 
twitching  of  the  muscles  that  held  his  jaws  set;  his 
great  hands  drawn  into  knots;  the  swelling  muscles  of 
his  arms  showing  in  ridges  under  the  skin,  and  a  hun 
ger  in  him  for  the  blood  of  the  man  a  wise  providence 
had  given  him  as  a  task  master.  Price  caught  that  look 
and  did  not  resist  when  Charley  pushed  him  out  through 
the  crowd  and  toward  a  side  door. 

In  the  meantime  some  of  the  men  had  taken  Mickey 
out,  and  as  Charley  and  Price  came  through  the  door 
way  the  first  thing  they  saw  was  the  little  group  of  men 
about  the  cripple.  Price  had  gotten  his  nerve  back  by 
this  time,  so,  shaking  off  the  hold  Charley  had  kept  upon 
him,  he  went  over  to  the  group.  Pushing  one  of  the 
men  aside  he  bent  over  the  boy. 

Quick  as  a  flash  Mickey's  two  hands  went  up;  one 
caught  Price  by  the  hair,  while  the  nails  of  the  other 
were  drawn  down  over  the  superintendent's  face,  tearing 
the  skin  and  bringing  blood  in  streams.  With  a  bellow 
of  rage  and  pain  Price  straightened  up,  bringing  the 
boy  with  him. 

A  dozen  men,  Charley  amongst  them,  interfered,  and 
Mickey,  his  hold  broken,  went  limp  as  a  rag  and  was 
tenderly  laid  upon  the  ground.  Three  of  the  men  had 
Price  by  the  arms,  holding  him  back  from  the  boy,  when 
Carson,  the  big  moulder,  pushed  his  way  into  the  fray 
once  more,  and,  pointing  toward  the  office,  said  to  Price : 

"You  better  move  along,  mister  man — you  can  fire 
rne  to-morrow,  but  if  you  ain't  out  of  my  sight  in  two 


215 

minutes,  I'll  give  you  what  you  gave  Johnson,  damn 
you." 

The  men  dropped  their  hold  upon  the  superintend 
ent's  arms,  stepped  back  and  waited  for  the  fight.  Price 
took  one  swift  look  at  the  moulder,  and  turning  on  his 
heel  started  for  the  office. 

'Til  make  it  hot  for  you — all  of  you,"  was  his  part 
ing  shot,  as  he  moved  off,  sopping  up  the  blood  from  his 
face  in  a  handkerchief. 

Moran,  the  foreman  under  whom  both  Charley  and 
Mickey  worked,  had  seen  the  whole  of  the  trouble.  As 
Price  left  he  came  out  of  the  shop  and  after  examining 
Mickey,  turned  to  the  men. 

"Go  back  to  your  work,  men,"  he  called  out,  and  add 
ed,  "none  of  you  need  be  afraid  of  trouble  from  the 
office  if  you  let  things  drop  where  they  are." 

As  the  men  went  back  to  their  tasks,  one  red-headed 
fellow  laughed.  "Bet  yer  life  they  won't  stir  a  bad 
mess.  Old  Holdon  couldn't  find  another  such  stinker 
as  Price  if  he  hunted  hell  over  with  a  fine-toothed 
comb." 

"Yes,  and  Price  couldn't  stay  a  day  if  they  let  this 
killing  be  looked  into,"  another  observed. 

One  of  the  men  who  worked  on  Mickey's  shift 
picked  up  his  shovel,  jammed  it  into  a  sand  pile,  spit  on 
his  hands,  and,  as  he  lifted  the  shovel  of  sand,  chuckled : 
"God,  but  Mickey's  got  th'  nerve.  Didn't  he  play  that 
just  right?" 

"Yes,"  said  Carson,  "and  if  that  low-lived  hound 
so  much  as  puts  a  finger  on  him  again  I'll  smash  him  if 
it's  the  last  day's  work  I  do  in  th'  world." 

The  man  at  the  shovel  looked  up,  nodded  approval, 
and  went  on  filling  his  flask. 

Outside  Moran  was  saying  to  Charley  Harris:  "I 
guess  you  had  better  stay  with  him  until  he's  able  to 
navigate — He's  a  game  little  cuss — always  was  willing 
to  fight  anything  in  the  shops — but  I  never  thought  he'd 
be  game  enough  t'  put  his  mark  on  Price,  though  they's 
been  bad  blood  between  them  for  a  long  time." 

When  Moran  had  gone  into  the  shop  Charley  went 
back  to  the  cripple  and  asked  him  how  he  was  coming. 

"I'se  all  stoved  in,  Charley;  but  I  guess  they  hain't 
nothing  serious  dat's  broke.  Darn  his  dirty  picter!  I 


2l6  MILLS  OF  MAMMON 

•hain't  even  yet."  He  rolled  over  on  his  side.  "It  hurts 
where  he  kicked  me  in  th'  slats,  when  I  was  down,"  he 
observed,  screwing  his  face  up  to  take  the  edge  off  the 
pain. 

As  Charley  sat  on  the  grass  beside  him  wondering 
what  was  to  happen  next,  the  thought  came  to  him  that 
he  had  been  in  a  sort  of  maze  from  the  very  beginning 
of  the  trouble,  all  of  it  seemed  wrong,  not  one  of  the 
men  had  acted  as  he  had  been  taught  men  should  act 
in  such  an  emergency.  The  brutality  of  Price — Mick 
ey's  grit — Carson's  bull-dog  jaws — the  sheeplike  docil 
ity  of  the  men — his  own  shortcomings — the  white- faced 
operator — the  death  cry  of  the  tortured  man — the  drip 
ping  blood — the  inhumanity  of  it  all — it  was  all  sicken- 
ingly,  disgustingly,  wholly  unbelievable  to  one  who  had 
not  experienced  it.  And  a  nightmare  of  uncertainties 
to  one  who  had  witnessed  it.  Johnson's  death  had  re 
sulted,  as  he  believed,  from  Price's  or  the  crane  oper 
ator's  'blunder — or  both.  He  also  felt  that  Mickey's 
charge  that  Price  had  killed  Johnson,  while  it  was  a  bit 
hasty,  still  had  something  of  reason  behind  it,  and  that 
thought  coupled  with  a  remembrance  of  the  superintend 
ent's  callousness,  and  his  evident  reluctance  to  have  any 
thing  like  an  investigation  into  the  tragedy  of  the 
morning,  all  served  to  puzzle  him.  Neither  could  he 
understand  the  men.  Johnson's  companions,  the  men 
upon  his  job,  not  one  of  them  but  had  gone  back  to  his 
work  without  a  backward  look  when  Price  had  ordered 
them  to  go,  adding  oaths  to  his  insulting  speech — what 
sort  of  men  were  they?  Only  one  man's  part  in  the 
whole  affair  appealed  to  him — that  man  was  Carson, 
the  big  moulder.  As  he  thought  how  Carson's  great 
hands  twifched,  how  white  his  lips  were,  and  how  hard 
and  steady  his  eyes  gleamed  and  glinted  as  he  pushed 
his  way  up  to  the  superintendent,  he  sighed — yes,  if 
he  had  it  to  over  again  he  would  let  Carson  half  kill 
the  brute. 

Looking  down  at  Mickey,  whose  old  man's  face  was 
twisted  into  an  ugly  scowl,  Charley  told  himself  there 
was  but  little  comfort  to  the  peacemaker  who  inter- 
fered  in  a  man's  fight,  and  especially  when  he  didn't 
know  the  first  rule  of  the  game. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

HOLDON  GIVES  ADVICE. 

Wherever  one  goes  in  our  industro-social  life  he 
comes  face  to  face  with  the  one  great  fact  developed 
by  our  nineteenth  and  twentieth  century  grabble  for 
dollars — the  fact  that  the  more  one  struggles  for  con 
trol  of  things  material  the  less  confidence  he  will  have 
in  the  honor  and  integrity  of  his  fellow  men.  To  be 
come  rich  is  to  lose  respect  for  the  old-time  sense  of 
honor  that  once  held  men  to  plighted  word,  even  to 
death.  To-day  the  citizen  who  measures  his  wealth  by 
six  figures  or  more  hires  detectives  to  watch  over  his 
precious  life. 

Find  two  employers  who  trust  each  other  to-day; 
then  leave  them  to  the  exigencies  of  the  struggle;  go 
back  in  ten  years  and  find  but  one  employer ;  this  is  the 
history  of  our  industrial  growth.  The  employer  who 
has  disappeared  has  been  over-reached.  The  man  who 
has  the  business  is  the  one  who  refused  to  be  ruled  by 
word  of  honor. 

A  perfected  spy  system  is  growing  up  to  meet  the 
demand  for  men  to  watch  these  other  men  whom  we 
distrust.  A  jealous  spouse  hires  a  private  detective.  A 
captain  of  industry  hires  a  whole  detective  agency.  An 
employer  of  labor  calls  for  assistance  from  a  union  spy 
furnisher,  and  gets  a  number  of  men  who  commit  per 
jury  in  order  that  the  employer  may  know  what  his 
workmen  do  in  their  secret  (?)  meetings.  A  railway 
employs  spotters  to  protect  its  dividends  from  the  in 
roads  of  conductors  and  other  worthy  employes  who 
believe  it  no  crime  to  "swipe"  things  and  money  from 
a  railway.  In  every  shop,  factory,  mill,  or  other  in 
dustrial  gathering  together  of  labor  we  find  the  cheap 
lickspittle,  who  carries  tales  from  the  job  to  the  boss, 
and  by  so  doing  gains  a  short-lived  opportunity  to 
bask  in  the  purchased  smiles  of  the  employer. 

217 


2l8  MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

Johnson's  body  had  hardly  ceased  quivering  when 
the  news  had  reached  Holdon  as  he  sat  in  his  office 
intent  upon  the  morning  paper.  Holdon  did  not  care 
to  make  a  personal  investigation,  but  he  did  not  think 
it  good  policy  to  have  the  body  left  in  sight  of  the  men 
for  too  long  a  time.  After  waiting  some  time  for 
Price  to  report,  he  took  up  the  telephone,  and  calling 
up  the  yard  boss,  instructed  him  to  take  three  men  and 
remove  the  body  to  a  tool  house  at  the  back  of  the 
plant. 

The  laborers  were  carrying  their  burden  away  when 
Carson  ordered  Price  to  move  on.  When  the  superin 
tendent  complied  with  that  none  too  gentle  request  he 
had  no  intention  of  allowing  the  office  force  to  see  him 
until  he  had  been  patched  up  a  bit.  He  sneaked  into 
his  office  by  the  back  way  and  busied  himself  with  water 
and  court-plaster.  For  every  look  in  the  mirror  his 
anger  grew.  When  he  had  in  a  measure  Covered  the 
worst  of  the  smarting  scratches  he  called  up  Moran 
and  ordered  him  to  discharge  Carson,  Harris,  and  even 
the  cripple.  As  he  took  the  receiver  from  his  ear 
Moran  was  asking  him  to  wait  a  minute.  The  minute 
was  long,  and  at  the  end  of  it  came  this  laconic  mes 
sage  from  the  foreman: 

"I  won't  fire  the  men  until  I  hear  from  you  again — 
you  may  change  your  mind  after  you've  seen  the  old 
man — he's  been  asking  for  you — says  keep  everything 
quiet." 

Price  was  furious,  thinking  Moran  had  reported  to 
Holdon.  He  was  about  to  insist  that  the  men  be  dis 
charged  forthwith,  when  a  clerk  began  pounding  upon 
his  door. 

•'What's  wanted  now?"  he  demanded. 

"Mr.  Holdon  wants  to  see  you." 

"Tell  him  I've  got  to  go  downtown  at  once.  I 
,can't •" 

"But  he  said  AT  ONCE,"  the  clerk  shouted  from  the 
other  side  of  the  locked  door.  Even  Price  knew  that 
Holdon's  "AT  ONCE"  would  never  be  discounted  by 
a  hired  man  but  once,  even  though  he  held  the  office 
of  superintendent.  He  hung  up  the  receiver,  satisfied 
the  clerk  that  he  would  attend,  took  another  look  at 
his  patched  face,  swore  he  would  have  satisfaction  out 


HOLDON  GIVES  ADVICE  219 

of  the  three  hands  at  fault,  and  started  for  the  presi 
dent's  office. 

Between  his  office  and  that  of  the  president  all  of 
the  office  force  that  could  do  so  took  a  good  look  at  the 
superintendent,  offering  another  illustration  of  the  spy 
system.  Practically  every  man  and  woman  in  the  office 
had  been  informed  that  some  one  out  in  the  "works" 
had  whipped  the  superintendent  Some  had  him  half 
killed,  others  told  how  a  number  of  the  men  had  pound 
ed  him,  and  all  had  the  story  in  one  form  or  another. 
Yes,  they  knew  a  man  had  been  killed,  but  that  was  a 
much  more  common  occurrence  than  the  pummeling  of 
a  superintendent,  consequently  the  story  of  the  killing 
did  not  produce  even  a  ripple,  while  the  lesser  tragedy 
filled  the  office  with  excitement. 

"Well,  you've  been  in  an  accident,  have  you?"  was 
Holdon's  greeting  as  Price  entered  the  office.  As  he 
asked  the  question  Holdon  turned  to  Moses  and  inti 
mated  that  his  presence,  could  be  dispensed  with. 

"Yes,  something  of  an  accident,"  Price  answered  as 
he  took  a  chair,  "but  I  fancy  the  three  men  I  ordered 
Moran  to  fire  will  not  be  so  ready  for  accidents  in  the 
future." 

"Whom  did  you  discharge?" 

"Why,  the  three  who  caused  all  the  trouble — Harris, 
Carson,  and  that  little  devil  of  a  cripple."  Price  had 
gotten  to  his  feet  and  was  gesticulating  with  some  show 
of  temper,  when  Holdon  said: 

"Sit  down,  sit  down,  Price,  you  are  either  too  angry 
or  too  excited  over  this  matter."  After  a  moment  of 
silence  he  went  on:  "They  tell  me  Mickey  gave  you 
those  scratches." 

"Yes,  and  by  I'll  half  kill  him  when  I  catch 

him  outside.  I  don't  care  if  he  is  a  cripple,"  Price 
stormed  out. 

Holdon  had  reached  for  the  phone.  As  he  took 
down  the  receiver  he  remarked:  "I  don't  think  you 
are  in  just  the  right  mood  to  deal  with  men,  besides, 
Johnson's  death  is  the  fourth  within  two  weeks,  and  if 
those  men  are  discharged  to-day,  especially  after  your 
little  set-to  with  them,  there'll  be  hell  to  pay  as  soon  as 
they  can  get  to  the  right  folks  with  their  story. 

He  turned  to  the  phone.    "Give  me  Moran,  please," 


22O  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

he  called,  and  looking  squarely  at  Price  asked:  "Did 
the  three  men  you  ordered  Moran  to  discharge  see 
Johnson  killed?"" 

Price  nodded  assent. 

"That  being  the  case,  don't  you  think  you  had  best 
tell  Moran  you  were  a  little  hasty,  and  for  him  not  to 
say  anything  to  the  men?"  It  was  put  in  form  of  a 
question,  but  Price  understood  it  as  a  command.  Flush 
ing  to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  he  reached  over,  and  tak 
ing  the  instrument  off  Holdon's  desk,  stammered  out 
the  will  of  the  master  touching  the  men  when  Moran 
answered  the  call. 

He  had  taken  his  seat  again  in  none  too  good 
humor,  when  Holdon  surprised  him  by  saying: 

"Price,  I  gave  you  credit  for  a  lot  more  sense  than 
you  have  shown  in  handling  this  affair."  Price  at 
tempted  to  justify  his  conduct,  but  Holdon  waved  it 
aside.  "Nonsense,  man,  I  tell  you  you  lost  your  head, 
and  I  am  more  put  out  by  it  than  you  can  think,  for 
I  intended  to  leave  the  business  in  your  hands  entirely." 
Price  looked  up,  then  down,  biting  his  lips  in  vexation. 
"Yes,"  Holdon  went  on,  "I  had  expected  to  go  to 
Europe  within  two  months,  but " 

"It  will  all  blow  over  sooner  than  that,"  Price  ven 
tured. 

"Yes,  this  incident  will,  but  how  about  the  next 
one?" 

"The  next  one  won't  happen,"  the  superintendent 
announced  confidently.  "You  see,  I  had  the  Johnson 
accident  on  my  nerves,  and  with  the  interference  of  that 
young  Harris,  and  the  cripple's  blurting  out  that  I'd 
murdered  Johnson — well,  I  did  lose  my  head — but  you 
must  remember  I  wasn't  at  the  head  of  the  plant — you 
want  to  consider  that,  Mr.  Holdon."  Holdon  nodded 
and  Price  continued  his  explanation.  "It  was  enough 
to  rattle  any  one,  and  the  three  who  brought  on  the 
after  trouble  can  be  gotten  rid  of  one  at  a  time  as 
soon  as  you  think  it  safe,  then  we  won't  need  to  fear 
another  such  exhibition." 

"Mickey  stays,"  Holdon  interrupted  at  this  point, 
"and  as  for  Harris,  I  want  you  to  get  to  be  the  best 
friend  he  has  in  the  world."  At  Price's  look  of  as 
tonishment  the  magnate  chuckled.  "Yes,  sir,  his  best 


HOLDON   GIVES  ADVICE  221 

friend.  Why,  man,  he's  got  a  machine — an  automotic 
moulder — and  it's  worth  a  million.  I  want  you  to  get 
next  to  it,  and  trust  me  for  the  rest.  Yes,  sir,  you  want 
to  see  him  to-day  before  he  gets  time  to  think  things 
over  and  get  set  against  you.  Tell  him  you  are  sorry — 
sorry  over  the  whole  business,  Johnson's  death  and  all 
the  rest  of  it — and  you  can't  make  yourself  too  sorry  if 
you  know  what's  good  for  you." 

"Well,  I'll  be  darned!  That  country  kid?  Are  you 
sure?" 

"Did  you  ever  know  me  to  be  anything  other  than 
sure?"  Holdon  asked,  a  self-satisfied  smile  lighting  up 
his  face.  "I've  had  him  in  here  three  times  and  had  a 
man  with  him  nearly  every  evening  for  a  month — yes, 
I'm  sure."  Price  whistled,  and  smiled  his  worship  of 
the  superior  man. 

"Then  about  Mickey — we  will  just  have  to  put  up 
with  him;  and  my  advice  would  be  to  let  him  alone." 

"I  don't  know  but  it's  impertinent,"  Price  qualified, 
"but  I'd  like  to  know " 

"Know  why  Mickey's  to  stay?"  Price  nodded, 
"Well,  it's  this  way:  my  wife  and  *Bee'  were  down 
here  the  afternoon  Mickey  got  hurt.  'No.  i*  blew  out; 
we  had  some  green  hands  on,  and  I  guess  they  over 
charged  her.  Wife  and  'Bee'  were  just  entering  the 
foundry  when  the  thing  happened.  Mickey  was  the 
first  one  they  saw  carried  out — and  the  last  one,  too,  I 
guess."  He  looked  up  at  Price  as  he  paced  back  and 
forth.  "You  know  how  women  are,"  he  continued, 
"they  were  both  badly  frightened,  and  the  boy  was  in 
a  bad  way.  To  make  a  short  story  of  it,  my  wife 
never  recovered  from  the  shock,  not  in  all  the  years, 
and  when  she  was  dying  her  last  thought  was  for  the 
crippled  little  Irishman.  Somehow  she  got  hold  of  the 
story  that  the  nine  deaths  that  day  were  due  to  the 
fact  that  I  had  locked  out  my  old  men  and  was  trying 
to  run  the  plant  with  a  lot  of  bums  and  pickups — she 
never  forgave  me." 

Price  sat  down  and  Holdon  remained  silent,  look 
ing  out  across  the  stretch  of  prairie  seen  through  the 
window.  "I  promised  her  that  so  long  as  I  controlled 
here  Mickey  should  have  a  job — and  it  wasn't  a  bad 
bargain."  He  got  up,  and  after  drumming  on  the  win- 


222  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

dow  for  a  minute,  turned  to  the  superintendent.  "I 
don't  like  to  look  at  him — he's  a  constant  reminder  that 
had  I  given  in  to  the  men  that  time  my  wife  might 
be  with  me  to-day." 

Price  bowed  his  head  in  silence,  and  Holdon,  after 
fumbling  among  his  papers  for  a  time,  said:  "As  to 
the  other  man,  Carson,  I  think  you  said,  I  don't  believe 
we  should  discharge  him  either.  He's  been  with  us 
a  long  time  and  isn't  too  old.  He's  industrious,  a  splen 
did  workman,  and,  besides,  he  is  safe — not  a  bit  of 
unionism  or  Socialism  about  him.  He  owns  a  little 
home,  and  that  cinches  him.  Take  him  all  around,  he 
is  a  man  to  tie  to  in  case  of  trouble."  He  paused  as 
though  expecting  the  superintendent  to  reply,  but  as 
he  seemed  loath  to  do  so  resumed:  "My  advice  would 
be  for  you  to  fix  things  with  Harris — better  get  him 
into  your  office  and  be  good  and  sorry — it  will  pay 
you.  Then  come  to  me." 

"Very  well."  Price  managed  to  get  these  words  out 
before  he  got  to  the  door,  but  they  came  hard. 

"And  forget  the  other  two,"  he  heard  as  he  started 
out  between  the  rows  of  desks,  where,  by  the  magic 
art  of  tale  building,  the  story  regarding  his  encounter 
in  the  shop  had  grown  considerable  since  he  passed 
that  way  before. 

The  day  after  the  killing  neither  Charley  nor  Mickey 
appeared  at  the  works,  and  that  fact  was  known  to 
Holdon  at  eight-thirty,  just  five  minutes  after  he  en 
tered  his  office.  Price  was  sent  for,  but  could  throw 
no  light  on  the  subject.  Then  a  messenger  was  sent 
post-haste  to  Mickey's  address  with  orders  to  phone 
the  office  if  he  succeeded  in  locating  either  of  the  miss 
ing  men. 

Holdon  was  not  in  an  overly  good  humor  with  his 
superintendent,  and  showed  it.  There  was  a  chance 
that  the  men  had  gone  to  enter  complaint  with  the  city 
authorities.  There  had  been  a  number  of  deaths  in  the 
big  plant  within  the  month  and  none  of  them  had  been 
reported  as  the  law  required.  Besides,  two  of  the  men. 
who  had  been  known  to  be  friendless  foreigners,  had 
been  buried  inside  the  company's  grounds  to  save  ex 
penses  and  possible  suits  which  might  have  been  in 
stituted  by  hungry  lawyers.  This  had  been  Johnson's 


HOLDON    GIVES   ADVICE  223 

fate,  and  Holdon  knew  it.  He  also  knew  it  would  be 
exceedingly  awkward  if  the  authorities  should  demand 
that  the  company  produce  his  remains,  for  it  was  very 
doubtful  whether  the  half-drunken  negroes  had  been 
over  careful  in  the  execution  of  their  grewsome  task 
the  night  before. 

From  contemplating  possibilities,  Holdon  turned  to 
Price. 

"What  did  they  do  with  Johnson?"  he  asked. 

The  superintendent  had  been  thinking  of  possibilities 
also,  and  turned  uneasily  in  his  chair.  It  took  two 
efforts  to  get  his  throat  cleared  before  he  attempted  an 
answer. 

"Why,  after  I  left  you  yesterday  Madden  came  in 
and  wanted  to  know  what  to  do  with  him,  saying  there 
wasn't  any  friends  to  look  after  the  body,  so  I  told 
him  to  do  the  same  as  he  had  with  Brootsky."  (Broot- 
sky  had  been  disposed  of  two  weeks  prior  to  John 
son's  taking  off.) 

"Has  he  reported  to  you  this  morning?"  Holdon 
demanded. 

"No,  I  suppose  he  thought  there  was  no  use  to  re 
port — he  never  has 

The  telephone  bell. 

"You,  Tracey?"  "Yes— both  there?  Why  didn't 
they  report  this  morning?  Not  feeling  well? — all 
right."  ' 

"There,  that's  off  my  mind,"  with  a  smile,  the  mag 
nate  turned  from  the  phone. 

"Price,  did  you  see  Harris  yesterday,"  he  inquired, 
then  added,  "Oh,  I  forgot  that  you  might  be  interested 
in  knowing  that  those  two  friends  of  yours  are  safe. 
They  will  report  for  work  as  soon  as  Mr.  Mickey  is 
fit  to  scratch  again." 

Price  was  too  well  pleased  to  learn  that  they  were 
not  looking  for  officers  to  investigate  the  Johnson  mat 
ter  to  take  exception  to  the  magnate's  banter,  so  smiled 
a  sickly  smile  as  he  answered  that  he  had  not  seen 
Harris  for  the  very  good  reason  that  he  had  gone  home 

with  Mickey. 

*  #  #  *  *  # 

What  did  they  do  with  Johnson? 

There  is  a  little  flaxen-headed  woman  on  the  way 


224  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

from  Sweden  who  one  of  these  days  would  give  her 
very  life  for  the  answer  to  that  question.  Yes,  her  life. 
And  it  is  about  all  she  has  to  give.  She  has  but  little 
more  than  enough  money  to  pay  her  way  across.  What 
did  they  do  with  Johnson?  Big-hearted  John.  He  left 
her  to  try  his  fortune  in  the  Great  Nation — the  famed 
home  of  brave  men — a  country  all  free.  He  told  her 
for  the  hundredth  time  as  her  tears  fell  at  thought  of 
parting : 

"Hilda,  you  are  one  little  goose.  Will  you  not  see, 
in  that  Great  Land  a  man  may  have  a  chance — such  a 
chance !  And  it  is  only  for  so  little  a  time,  my  loved 
one;  only  so  little  a  time.  Soon  I  shall  send  for  you. 
Then  we  shall  be  Americans.  Think  of  that,  Hilda, 
and  dry  those  sweet,  pretty  eyes;  we  shall  be  Ameri 
cans  !" ' 

She  is  coming.  How  many  Hildas  have  come  to  our 
shores?  How  many  more  are  to  come  while  the  wheels 
in  the  Mills  of  Mammon  grind  out  their  grist  from  be 
tween  great  iron  burrs  that  crush,  and  crush,  and  crush 
and  always  hunger  for  more,  and  more,  and  more? 
How  many  more  are  to  come  as  she  comes,  while  cor 
porations  defy  the  law,  rob  the  dead  and  living  alike, 
burn,  maim,  cripple,  debauch ;  wantonly,  uselessly,  con 
tinuously. 

She  is  coming.  Will  the  great  gates  of  the  Holdon 
Company  swing  open  for  her,  that  she  may  find  some 
of  her  lover's  comrades  who  may  tell  her  of  him  ?  Will 
its  office  force  be  instructed  to  assist  her  in  her  search 
for  the  man  who  promised  to  make  her  an  American? 
No,  no,  no,  a  thousand  times  no.  A  hooting  mob  of 
young  hoodlums  will  cry  their  senseless  drivel  after 
her  in  the  streets  as  she  turns  away  from  the  gates. 
A  nation  will  look  on  coldly  at  the  anguish  of  a  broken 
hearted  little  foreign-born  sister  of  ours,  as  she  takes 
her  way  into  our  grand,  free,  fair,  square  life. 

Why  should  this  little  flaxen-headed  woman  with 
out  money  or  friends  be  shown  consideration  by  an 
American  corporation,  when  men  who  have  families  liv 
ing  almost  at  the  gates  give  up  their  lives  or  writhe  in 
agony  after  one  of  the  "accidents"  incident  ^  to  our 
hurry-for-dollars.  life-be-damned  system,  while  their 
loved  ones  are  denied  the  right  to  see  the  sufferer,  or 


HOLDON    GIVES    ADVICE  22$ 

know  the  truth  as  to  his  injury,  until  a  company  doc 
tor  and  a  company  claim  adjuster  have  had  their  way 
with  the  helpless,  tortured,  broken  victim?  What  right- 
can  this  little  flaxen-headed  woman  from  a  far  land 
have  to  knock  upon  the  gates  of  the  Holdon  Company's 
plant  when  the  police  of  a  great  city  stand  without  the 
walls  mocking  good  citizens  of  the  republic  as  they  in 
sist  that  they  have  a  right  to  go  to  friend  or  kindred  in 
agony  behind  those  gates? 

She  is  coming.  Will  some  soft-skinned,  smooth-voiced 
seeker  after  worlds  to  come  tell  me :  Is  our  modernized 
HELL  hot  enough  for  the  proper  reception  of  the  gen 
tlemen  who  will  turn  her  away  from  the  great  gates 
of  the  Holdon  Company? 

Who  will  tell  her  the  truth?     Who  knows? 

Three  drunken  negroes  were  paid  five  dollars  to 
bury  a  gunnysack  at  the  back  of  the  Holdon  Plant  last 
night. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

MICKEY  INTRODUCES  HIS  FRIENDS. 

Mickey  and  Charley  enjoyed  a  two  days'  vacation 
before  the  former  felt  able  to  venture  back  to  the  works 
of  the  Holdon  Company. 

During  that  time  Charley  spent  most  of  his  time 
with  Mickey,  and  they  discussed  a  number  of  topics, 
several  of  which  we  shall  touch  upon  in  this  chapter. 
One  topic  that  never  lost  interest  for  Mickey  was  Price. 
Charley,  in  the  interests  of  peace,  tried  his  best  to  get 
the  cripple  to  admit  that  he  might  be  mistaken  in  his 
estimate  of  the  superintendent;  an  estimate  summed  up 
in  the  title  of  "Stinker"  the  boy  bestowed  upon  his  late 
antagonist. 

"Nixie  fer  me,  Charley,"  Mickey  had  insisted  when 
pressed,  "it  won't  go  down.  Youse  don't  b'leve  none 
ov  it  yerself.  Youse  knows  it's  bull  con,  an'  de  only 
reason  youse  dopes  it  out  t'  me  is  cause  youse  .is  afraid 
I'll  get  inter  trouble  again.  I'm  dead  next  t'  th'  pipe, 
but  it  won't  work.  Youse  see,  it's  this  here  way;  I've 
bin  a-watchin'  dat  stinker  ever  since  de  boss  got  him, 
an'  there  hain't  nothin'  to  it;  he's  plum  phony  t'  th' 
core." 

Mickey  lay  upon  a  dilapidated  lounge  in  the  dilapi 
dated  parlor  of  an  equally  dilapidated  boarding  house, 
while  Charley  sat  at  a  window  watching  the  boy  and 
wondering  how  he  could  have  collected  the  endless  vari 
ety  of  odd  bits  of  worldly  wisdom  he  possessed. 

"What's  yer  politics?"  the  cripple  demanded,  start 
ling  Charley  out  of  a  brown  study. 

"Why,  I'm  a  Republican,  I  guess,  but  you  know  I 
have  been  so  busy  with  my  machine  ever  since  I  was  a 
boy  that  I  never  had  much  to  do  with  politics  but  to 
vote  twice." 

"Do  youse  know  why  youise  is  a  'Publican?" 

"Well,  no, — I  can't  say,  unless  it's  because  we  saved 
226 


MICKEY  INTRODUCES  HIS  FRIENDS 

the  country,  and  my  father  votes  the  ticket,"  Charley 
replied,  laughing. 

"Jist  w'at  he  said !  Exac'ly  w'at  he  said !"  Mickey  sat 
up  and  punctuated  the  air  with  his  fists. 

"What  who  said?" 

"W'y,  a  barker  on  de  street.  One  night  'bout  a 
month  ago  I  seed  a  gang  on  a  street  corner,  an'  a  bloke 
a-wavin'  his  han's,  an'  a-givin'  'em  hark.  So  I  goes 
over  an'  squeezes  inter  th'  mob  t'  listen  t'  de  gent,  an' 
dat's  w'at  he  tells  dem  guys.  Says  he,  If  youse  asks  a 
Dimocrat  'r  a  'Publican  why  dey  is  one  of  dem  things, 
he's  on'y  got  one  thing  t'  say  t'  youse,  an'  dat  is,  "I'm 
a  Dimocrat  'cause  me  fader  was  one,"  or  "I'm  a  'Publi 
can  'cause  we  fit  an'  died  fer  de  country/  Say,  de  gent 
jist  went  on  an'  ripped  th'  eternal  stuffin'  outen  both  th' 
Dimocrats  an'  the  "Publicans;  an'  he  did  give  sich  fel 
lers  as  our  boss  th'  very  hell, — w'y,  that  feller  says  de 
kids  even  don't  stand  no  show  if  sich  men  as  Old  Man 
Holdon  wants  t'  bile  'em  up  inter  soap — do  youse  b'leve 
dat?"  He  looked  straight  at  Charley  with  a  face  all 
seriousness. 

"Of  course  not — that  was  what  we  call  exaggera 
tion,  Mickey.  You  see  I  was  a  kid  once,  and  they 
didn't  boil  me  up,  or  grind  me  up,  either.  If  the  rich 
men  went  to  grinding  the  boys  up  where  would  we  get 
our  men?" 

Mickey  ran  his  hand  down  over  a  withered  hip.  As 
he  did  so  the  memory  of  his  suffering  caused  him  to 
wince. 

"But  here's  me,  Charley,"  he  protested,  "an'  dey 
burned  me  up " 

"Oh,  that  was  an  accident ;  I  don't  suppose  Mr.  Hol 
don  was  to  blame." 

"Wasn't?"  There  was  a  wealth  of  contempt  in  the 
one  word,  and  more  as  he  poured  out  the  rest.  "Th'  hell 
th'  wasn't.  Say,  I  thought  th'  same,  but  I've  changed 
me  mind.  See  here,  dey  locked  th'  good  men  out  ov  de 
works  an'  hired  police  bulls  an'  fly  cops  t'  guard  th' 
plant.  An'  me  bein'  nothin'  but  a  boy,  they  induces  me 
t'  stay  an'  work,  an'  I  didn't  know  no  better — den  dey 
brings  in  a  bunch  ov  scabs  frum  somewheres,  an'  dey 
was  all  dubs  an'  muckers.  But  Holdon  sets  'em  t'  mon- 
keyin'  wid  de  furnaces  fer  a  bluff  t'  make  the  ol'.  men 


228  MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

think  de  plant  was  a-goin'  t'  work.  'Course  I  knowed 
dey  was  green,  ef  I  was  jist  a  kid,  but  I  didn't  know 
dey  was  goin'  t'  blow  her  up — well,  dey  got  me — I  was 
burned  awful — an'  sometimes  w'en  I  gits  t'  thinkin'  w'at 
a  spry  kid  I  was  'fore  den,  I  wishes  t'  God  they'd  a-fin- 
ished  me  an'  sent  me  on  t'  th'  soap  fact'ry  de  gent  told 
about." 

Charley  sat  silent,  regarding  this  being,  robbed  of 
boyhood  and  denied  the  possibility  of  manhood. 

"De  spouter  on  de  street  hit  it  off  right,  all  right, 
when  he  told  dem  guys  how  every  kid  ought  t'  have  a 
chanct  t'  get  a  good  ejucation,  have  a  good  home  t'  live 
in,  an'  plenty  t'  eat.  Den  he  shot  de  stuff  right  into  th' 
Dimocrat  and  'Publican  parties  fer  a  keepin'  th'  poor 
folks'  kids  in  de  fact'rys,  an'  out  ov  de  schools,  'cause 
th'  rich  guys  wants  th'  earth,  an'  all  de  poor  kids  can 
make  t'  boot.  By  th'  Old  Harry,  it's  so,  too!  An'  if 
youse  don't  b'leve  it  I  can  show  youse  thousands  ov  poor 
kids  w'at  don't  know  nothin'  but  work,  an'  they  has  ter 
live  jist  like  he  says." 

"But  we  have  all  our  schools  full,  Mickey,  and 
there  are  just  oceans  and  oceans  of  boys  and  girls  who 
don't  have  to  work;  besides " 

"'Sides  nothin'!"  the  boy  protested,  hotly.  "Dey 
ain't  never  had  rro  school  full  ov  me — an'  I  ain't  one  ov 
dem  oceans  an'  oceans  youse  says  don't  have  t'  work, 
am  I  ?  Well,  it's  me  I'm  a-talkin'  about — an'  I  guess  dat 
gent  was  a-talkin'  th'  same  way.  What  chanst  have  I 
had  t'  git  w'at's  in  me  nut  sorted  out  so's  I  could  use  it  ? 
Nixie !  It's  me  t'  de  sand  pile  an'  de  scrap  dump.  An' 
jist  think  ov  it.  Dat  gent  says  as  how  his  party,  th' 
Sociablists,  is  a-goin'  ter  take  ev'ry  runty  kid  outen  de 
fact'rys  an*  give  'em  long  trips  on  th'  railroads  an' 
steamboats,  an'  put  'em  in  school,  an'  make  men  an' 
women  ov  Jem.  D;  youse  think  it  kin  be  done,  Char 
ley?"  There  was  a  wealth  of  pleading  earnestness  in 
the  Irish  blue  eyes  as  Mickey  asked  the  question.  The 
visitor  temporized: 

"Well,  Mickey,  it  ought  to  be  done,  that's  sure." 

"Jist  w'at  he  says.  I'll  be  litter'ly  blistered  ef  it  ain't 
jist  w'at  th'  gent  says  youse  'ud  say." 

"How's  that?" 

"W'y  dis  way.    Dat  gent  says:   'Ladies  an'  gents,  ef 


MICKEY    INTRODUCES    HIS    FRIENDS 

youse  askes  me  'Publican  er  Dimocrat  frien's  ef  de 
things  I'm  telling  youse  isn't  jist  as  they  ought  t'  be, 
they'll  say  sure  t'ing,  it's  all  right,  all  right ;  but  how  th' 
hell  are  youse  goin'  ter  git  it?'  An'  he  winds  up  by  say- 
in'  dat,  spite  ov  anything,  they  is  goin'  t'  git  things  com- 
in'  deir  way,  an'  I  t'row  up  me  lid  an'  hollers  like  Fs 
a  Ingin  an'  when  they  passes  de  hat  I  seen  Fly  Boyd 
drop  a  whole  dollar  in  th'  dicer." 

"Who  is  this  Fly  Boyd?"  Charley  asked,  in  an  ef 
fort  to  get  away  from  politics,  where  he  felt  he  was  in 
deep  water  even  with  Mickey. 

"Who's  Fly  Boyd?  Say,  anybody  could  tell  as  how 
youse  ain't  bin  in  de  mertropolis  long.  Who's  Fly 
Boyd?"  he  repeated,  "why,  she's  a  topnotcher  an'  don't 
youse  try  to  fergit  it.  Wouldn't  no  more  look  at  a 
common  dub  like  youse  dan  nothin'  in  de  world.  Why, 
she's  traveled — bin  t'  Europe  an'  all  dem  places  where 
folks  as  is  some  shakes  don't  wear  no  close  t'  speak  ov, 
an'  she  has  money  t'  burn.  She's  got  a  swell  joint, 
down  on  Mich-ave  an'  don't  keep  no  mollies  'round  but 
jist  t'  keep  t'ings  a-lookin'  swell.  Anything  dey  gits  in 
deir  socks  is  clear  velvet;  an'  dey  don't  have  no  rent 
t'  pay,  er  nothin'.  An'  purty!  Say,  when  Fly  Boyd 
was  run  off  dey  shook  out  de  sand  and  split  up  de  pat 
tern  as  soon  as  ever  dey  got  through." 

Charley  laughed  heartily  at  Mickey's  description  of 
this  woman  of  the  town,  and  asked:  "How  in  the 
world  did  you  get  acqauinted  with  this  dream  of  yours 
— pipe  dream,  isn't  it?" 

"Pipe  dream  nothin'.  I  bin  t'  her  place  on  Mich-ave, 
an'  know  me  nut's  on  straight  when  I  talks." 

"You've  been  to  her  house?" 

"Sure,  Mike !  Don't  sound  right  when  youse  look 
at  me,  but  it's  on  de  level.  Youse  see  I  knowed  a  girl 
what  worked  in  a  'graving  plant,  an'  whilst  she  was 
dere  one  ov  th'  clerks  got  t'  makin'  goo-goo  eyes  at  her, 
an'  she  bein'  young  an'  so  purty  she  thought  dey  wasn't 
no  use  ov  no  man  a-lookin'  at  her  an'  not  fallin'  dead 
in  love  t'  onct,  lets  this  Johnnie  tell  her  she's  de  onliest 
piece  of  calico  in  th'  world — an'  she  a-knowin'  it  fore 
he  told  it  t'  her  made  it  all  th'  easier  fer  him,  see? 
Well,  she  jist  melts  in  his  arms,  but  don't  come  out  ov 
it  soon  enough.  Course  she  thinks  he's  a-goin'  ter  mar- 


230  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

ry  her,  an'  this  Johnnie  helps  her  t'  think  so  as  long  as 
she  is  fit  t'  be  seen  at  the  plant.  Then  he  up  an'  tells 
her  she  better  not  come  no  more.  Nacherly  she  fires 
up  an'  tells  him  he's  bin  puttin'  off  th'  ringing'  ov  them 
weddin'  bells  'bout  as  long  as  she'll  stand  fer,  an'  he 
fixes  it  all  up  slick  an'  nice ;  inducin'  her  t'  go  t'  de  boss 
an'  lie  t'  him  by  tellin'  that  she  is  'bout  t'  marry  a  man 
in  Hammond,  an'  won't  he  please  pay  her  her  full  time, 
as  she  must  quit  her  job.  Say,  that  welsher  was  slick, 
all  right,  all  right.  When  she  goes  home — her  folks  lives 
jist  across  de  street — youse  can  see  de  house — th'  one 
with  th'  big  winder  in  de  roof  like.  When  she  quits  her 
job  she  nacherly  tells  her  folks  she's  goin'  ter  marry  t' 
dis  wels'her,  an'  she  waits  an'  waits,  but  he  never  shows 
up  after  he  gits  her  t'  quit  de  plant.  Then  her  brother 
goes  down  t'  de  plant  an'  asks  fer  his  nibs ;  an'  what  he 
done  t'  dat  cuss  wasn't  half  ernough,  even  ef  he  did  have 
ter  go  t'  de  hospital.  Course  th'  brother  had  t'  skip,  an' 
Mamie,  she's  de  girl,  gets  peakeder  an'  peakeder  an' 
finally  one  day  she  comes  up  missin'.  It's  a  whole  year 
'fore  I  sees  her  agin;  an'  would  youse  b'leve  it,  when 
she  first  sees  me  she  pulls  me  inter  a  doorway,  an'  hugs 
an'  kisses  me,  an'  jist  nacherly  insists  that  I  must  go 
home  wid  her  an'  tell  her  all  th'  news.  So  I  goes,  some 
wondering,  and  she  takes  me  t'  Fly  Boyd's  joint,  fer 
that's  where  she  lives." 

"Mamie,  the  girl  that  ran  away  from  home?"  Char 
ley  asked. 

Naw,  she  didn't  run  away.  I  seen  her  when  she 
made  her  git-a-way,  an'  she  wasn't  runnin'.  Well,  she 
make  me  promise  as  how  I  won't  say  a  word  t'  her 
old  folks  nor  nobody  'bout  a-seein'  her,  an'  den  she  let 
me  inter  de  whole  works.  Say,  it  was  all  a  false  alarm 
'bout  dat  baby,  she  ain't  got  none,  told  me  so  herself. 
Dat's  how  I  got  acquainted  with  Fly  Boyd  an'  Jim  Gard 
ner — th'  squares'  man  in  de  world." 

Mickey  lay  back  on  the  battered  old  lounge  and 
gazed  at  the  smoke-blackened  ceiling,  while  Charley  let 
his  eyes  wander  from  time  to  time  toward  the  house 
with  the  big  window  in  the  roof  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street;  but  his  mind  was  busy  sorting  the  queer  mix 
ture  of  wisdom  and  innocence  and  ignorance,  lying  on 


MICKEY    INTRODUCES    HIS    FRIENDS  23! 

the  lounge  and  for  the  time  being  deeply  interested  in 
the  smoky  ceiling. 

After  studying  the  boy  for  a  time,  he  said:  "I'm 
very  inquisitive,  Mickey,  and  would  like  first  rate  to 
know  something  about  this  Jim  Gardner — "The  squarest 
man  in  the  world." 

Mickey  turned  quickly.  "W'y,  I  told  you,  didn't  I 
— he's  square?  Jist  like  you,  only  differenter.  Youse 
is — is — well " 

Laughing  heartily,  Charley  encouraged  him  to  go  on. 

"Well,  youse  is  good,  an'  on  de  level — but  youse 
don't  know  no  better." 

Charley's  eyes  were  wide  open.  "I  don't  know  any 
better  than  to  be  good,  while  Jim  Gardner " 

"Is  good,  too,"  Mickey  interrupted,  "but  it's  a  dif 
ferenter  kind  ov  good — he  knows  better,  but  jist  can't 
help  being  good  most  ov  de  time.  W'y,  he's  a  gent." 

Mickey  crowded  into  those  four  words  all  the  long 
ing,  all  the  day  dreams  and  night  visions  of  his  poor, 
cramped  and  misshapen  life — "W'y,  he's  a  gent." 

"What  does  he  do?"  The  questioner  really  won 
dered  what  revelation  was  to  come  to  him  as  the  fruit 
of  his  question. 

"He's  in  de  syndicate;  but  he  had  ter  work  like  th' 
devil  t'  break  in.  I  heard  him  tell  Fly  dat." 

"What  syndicate?" 

"Well,  it's  me  t'  de  dump!  An'  youse  don't  even 
know  dat?  Why  I — ain't  youse  heard  ov  th'  men  at  de 
head  ov  th'  policy  shops  and  big  lay-outs  uptown? — 
say,  youse  is  too  green  t'  burn." 

"Oh,"  Charley  observed,  calmly.  "He's  one  of  the 
big  gamblers;  is  that  it?" 

"Yep,  dat's  de  dope."  Mickey  sat  up  straight. 
"Dat's  jist  w'at  he  is — an'  if  dey  hadn't  a-burnt  me  f  a 
cracklin'  w'en  I  wasn't  nutting  but  er  kid,  maybe  I'd  a- 
bin  as  big  a  man,  an'  as  great  a  gent  as  Jim  Gardner." 

Horrified,  Charley  made  protest.  "Why,  Mickey," 
said  he,  "gambling  is  wrong — and  the  kind  of  life 
Mamie  and  Fly  Boyd  lead  is  sinful.  I  don't  see -" 

"No,  youse  don't  see.  Why,  damn  it  all,  Charley, 
ain't  dem  gospel  sharks  gamblers?  Didn't  dey  take  me 
mon,  an'  not  even  give  me  a  look-in  fer  me  coin?  An' 
when  it  comes  t'  Mamie  an'  Fly — say,  w'en  our  boss 


232  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

gits  his  name  in  de  papers  fer  givin'  a  thousan'  bucks  t' 
de  church,  he's  called  good,  ain't  he  ?" 

Charley  nodded. 

"An'  w'en  he  goes  down  t'  Fly's  joint,  er  sends  fer 
her  t'  go  up  t'  his  'partments  on  Monroe,  an'  gives  her 
a  even  hundred  bucks  fer  takin'  away  his  headache  er 
something  like  dat — w'at  is  he?" 

''But  he  don't  do  it,"  Charley  protested. 

"Don't  he !"  Mickey  put  all  the  contempt  possible 
into  a  few  words,  and  plunged  on:  "Maybe  I  keeps 
Mamie  posted  on  th'  doin's  out  here,  an'  don't  get  noth- 
in'  back,  an'  maybe  I  does.  Anyway,  youse  can  take  it 
from  me,  our  boss  is  jist  as  bad  as  me  friends  Mamie 
an'  Fly,  an'  a  darned  site  worser  dan  Jim  Gardner.  If 
I  was  t'  tell  Jim  Gardner  how  Stinker  Price  used  me, 
de  stinker'd  be  mighty  lucky  ef  he  didn't  get  his  block 
knocked  off  some  dark  night,  fer  Jim  'ud  send  a  slug 
ger  out  t'  do  him  up." 

When  Mickey  ceased  speaking  Charley  sat  for  some 
time  wrestling  with  his  conscience.  He  saw  the  possi 
bility  of  losing  Mickey's  friendship  unless  he  could 
square  himself  with  Mickey's  views  of  life.  It  went 
against  the  grain,  but  he  did  manage  to  convey  to  the 
cripple  an  assurance  that  he  would  gladly  meet  "the 
'squares'  man  in  de  world"  and  other  of  Mickey's 
friends. 

"Bet  yer  life  youse  would,"  was  the  comment  re 
turned,  with  the  following  elaboration:  "Let  me  put 
youse  wise — w'en  Jim  Gardner  walks  inter  th'  bettin' 
ring  a  cloud  ov  pikers  an'  de  whole  push  jist  follers 
him  up  t'  th'  marker,  an'  w'en  Jim  pulls  his  wad — 
it's  a  roll  big  as  me  leg,  me  good  one — an'  lays  his  coin 
like  he  was  a-dealin'  in  rags ;  say,  they  ain't  nothin'  t'  it 
— he's  de  candy!  Jim  bets  th'  bigges'  always,  an'  w'en 
de  bookies  hears  he's  comin'  dey  sen's  fer  all  de  cash 
dey's  got,  in  a  hurryup  on  de  bank,  an'  dat's  no  dream." 

"He  must  be  rich,"  Charley  observed. 

"Yep,  rich  as  Montgomery  Ward  an'  Co.  But,  say ;  I 
seed  him  oncet  two  years  ago  when  a  gang  cleaned  him 
up  fer  fair,  by  pullin'  two  races  on  him  to  oncet.  W'en 
I  seed  him  dat  time  he  didn't  have  on  no  shiners,  an'  he 
looked  plum  disgusted.  Mamie  tol'  me  'bout  de  game, 
an'  she  sed  Fly  was  a-keepin'  him  under  cover  till  he 


THE   VISION    FADES  233 

could  git  next  de  gang  dat  put  it  over  him.  An'  she 
did  it,  too ;  an'  staked  him — fer  de  next  time  I  seed  him 
he's  wearing  headlights  on  his  front  piece,  an'  he  skins 
a  five-spot  offen  his  roll  an'  says  'Here,  Crips,' — he  allus 
calls  me  Crips — 'Here,  Crips,'  says  he,  'go  an'  enjoy 
yourself/  an'  I  did." 

"So  you  think  your  friend  Gardner  would  send  a 
slugger  out  to  do  up  Price  if  you  asked  him  to?"  Char 
ley  asked  banteringly,  but  as  he  went  home  the  boy's 
answer  kept  him  fully  occupied. 

"Sure,  Mike,"  Mickey  had  replied,  "but  don't  youse 
give  me  away.  Lots  ov  th'  men  what  gits  their  nut 
cracked  wid  a  billy,  an'  loses  deir  watches  an'  loose 
change  gits  it  cause  dey's  bin  piped  off  t'  some  ov  de 
fly  boys  as  is  hired  t'  make  life  miserable  fer  folks  as 
gits  too  gay  a-nosin'  inter  other  folks'  biz.  Yep,  youse 
kin  take  it  from  me — ef  Mr.  Price  comes  up  t'  th'  office 
some  mornin'  wid  a  busted  nut,  youse'll  know  me  friends 
is  not  all  dead.  What,  youse  goin'  so  soon?  Shucks, 
it  ain't  late  yit." 

"Well,  I'll  see  youse  to  th'  works  in  de  mornin',"  he 
called  after  his  visitor. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

THE   VISION    FADES. 

Mickey  and  Charley  both  felt  a  bit  shaky  the  morn 
ing  they  went  back  to  work  when  they  saw  Price.  He 
was  still  wearing  court-plaster  in  strips  when  he  came 
into  the  moulding  room.  Seeing  them,  he  cast  down  his 
eyes  and  flushed  up,  but  made  straight  for  them  never 
theless. 

Mickey  hopped  over  to  Charley's  side  and  whispered : 
"We  gits  de  'can'  as  sure  as  you're  born." 

"All  right,  Mickey,  we'll  pull  through  any  way,"  the 
man  answered,  encouragingly. 

Price  advanced,  and  holding  out  his  hand  to  Charley 
said :  "Mr.  Harris,  I  owe  you  an  apology ;  I  was  brutal 
the  other  day." 

"You  were  rather  hard  pressed,"  Harris  paused. 
"The  thing  I  regretted,"  his  left  hand  pointed  toward 
Mickey,  "was  that  you  should " 

"I  understand  fully,  Mr.  Harris,  and  assure  you  I 
am  as  ready  to  make  things  right  with  Mickey."  The 
superintendent  was  beaming. 

"No  youse  don't,"  declared  Mickey.  "Youse  kin 
give  me  de  G.  B.  P.  D.  O.,  but  dis  chicken  don't  take 
none  ov  de  brand  ov  soap  youse  peddles." 

After  this  declaration,  Mickey  limped  away  and 
busied  himself  at  the  sand  blast,  while  both  Harris  and 
Price  seemed  at  a  loss  to  know  how  to  bridge  over  the 
cripple's  awkward  speech. 

Carson,  the  big  moulder,  who  had  overheard  the 
speech,  grinned  his  broadest. 

Price  was  first  across.  "He's  never  been  right  since 
his  accident,"  he  asserted,  and  while  Harris  mumbled  an 
indistinct  reply,  his  visitor  was  gone,  having  found  busi 
ness  elsewhere. 

Two  weeks  later  Charley  was  called  to  the  office  and 
found  Price  busy  with  some  papers. 

234 


THE  VISION  FADES  235 

"Sit  down,  Mr.  Harris,"  the  superintendent  motioned 
to  a  chair.  "I'm  busy  just  for  the  moment." 

Charley  wondered  what  Price  could  possibly  want  of 
him,  he  was  cudgeling  his  brain  for  an  answer,  when 
Price  handed  the  papers  he  had  been  examining  to  his 
stenographer  and  told  her  he  would  excuse  her  for  a 
short  time. 

Turning  to  face  Harris,  he  inquired — "Ever  indulge  ?" 
and  pushed  a  box  of  cigars  toward  him. 

"Now,  Mr.  Harris,"  he  began,  when  both  cigars  were 
well  alight,  "You  may  be  surprised  when  I  tell  you  why 
I  sent  for  you.  You  see,  Martin  (the  man  Holdon  had 
hired  to  pump  Harris)  has  told  me  in  a  casual  way  that 
you  are  working  on  an  automatic  moulding  machine." 
Harris  nodded.  "And,  well,  as  I  too  have  been  working 
on  one  for  years,  I  thought  we  might  have  some  ideas 
to  exchange.  I  understand  your  machine  is  only  in  the 
•experimental  stage." 

"It's  out  of  the  experimental  stage,  Mr.  Price.  It 
was  a  success  as  I  first  built  it." 

Price's  eyes  glowed. 

"Well,  you  are  ahead  of  me ;  my  machine  is  only 
on  paper,  but  I  am  thinking  seriously  of  patenting  the 
principles  involved." 

This  was  all  a  lie  out  of  whole  cloth;  Price  bad 
never  had  an  idea,  let  alone  developing  a  machine. 

"But  I  should  think  it  would  be  best  to  build  a  'ma 
chine  to  test  the  value  of  your  invention  before  patent 
ing  it"  the  mechanic  ventured. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right."  Price  laughed  lightly.  "I 
know  that  my  machine  is  all  right."  At  that,  he  went 
on  to  describe  a  machine  so  nearly  like  the  one  Harris 
'had  broken  up  in  Holcomb's  barn,  that  the  mechanic's 
heart  almost  stood  still. 

"You — you  say  you  have  this  machine  planned  out  on 
paper,  drafted?"  Harris  asked  helplessly. 

"Yes,  and  I  was  just  ready  to  have  a  model  con 
structed  and  sent  in  when  Martin  happened  to  mention 
that  you  have  been  working  along  the  same  lines." 

"Well,  Mr.  Price,  I  am  sure  I  appreciate  your  tell 
ing  me  this,  for  there  is  but  little  use  for  two  of  us  to 
apply  for  patents  on  practically  the  same  machine." 

Harris  had  aged  ten  years  in  as  many  minutes.    Price 


236  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

noted  if  all  and  gloated  over  having  found  an  easy 
victim. 

"Machines  alike!''  he  exclaimed.  "Did  I  hear  you 
right?" 

"I  said  alike,  but  I  suppose  I  might  be  able  to  claim 
improvement  in  the  compound  for  making  the  mold." 

Charley's  face  took  on  more  of  hope  as  he  thought  of 
the  great  difference  there  would  be  between  the  ma 
chine  he  wanted  to  build  and  the  one  just  described  by 
Price.  "And  my  machine  will  have  twice  the  speed  that 
can  be  given  any  machine  that  uses  a  tamped  flask," 
he  asserted. 

"Well,  it's  interesting,  anyway/'  Price  declared, 
"just  think  how  odd  it  is  that  we  two  should  have  been 
working  out  the  same  problems.  And  I  don't  mind  tell 
ing  you  that  I  am  working  along  the  line  you  just  -men 
tioned." 

The  speaker's  sharp  black  eyes  never  left  Charley's 
face.  He  had  his  victim;  that  last  shot  was  a  winner. 
The  worker  had  never  thought  of  the  ""how"  other  work 
ers  had  been  robbed  of  the  fruits  of  years  of  labor  and 
he  sat  helpless. 

"But,  you  know,  inventors  are  clannish  and  so  long 
as  you  have  worked  on  the  same  sort  of  machine  or  at 
least  a  machine  to  accomplish  the  same  ends,  why  I 
thought  it  no  more  than  right  to  tell  you  about  it." 

"I  thank  you,"  Harris  murmured  in  a  choked  voice 
and  hardly  knowing  what  he  did,  got  up,  put  on  his  cap 
and  started  to  leave  the  office. 

Outside,  there  was  at  least  escape  from  the  near  pres 
ence  of  this  man,  who  had  robbed  his  life  of  the  sum 
total  of  its  gladness;  robbed  labor  of  its  song  and  sent 
his  soul  reason  hunting  among  past  misdeeds.  He  had 
reached  the  door;  the  cold  eyes  of  the  superintendent 
were  dancing  as  he  called  to  him. 

"Mr.  Harris?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  still  feeling  blindly  for  a  knob 
where  it  did  not  exist. 

"Come  and  sit  down;  we  ought  to  talk  this  matter 
over  a  little  further,  and " 

"No,  it's  not  necessary,"  the  man  at  the  door  re 
plied. 

"See  here,  Mr.  Harris,  I  am  sorry  I  beat  you  to  it, 


THE  VISION  FADES  23/ 

as  the  boys  say,  but  as  you  have  already  built  one  ma 
chine,  why  couldn't  you  take  the  job  of  building  both 
the  model  and  a  trial  machine  for  me?" 

"Never!"    The  man  at  the  door  found  the  way  out. 

"Darned  tough  medicine  to  take,  and  I  certainly  gave 
him  a  good  dose.  I  wouldn't  want  to  put  in  such  a  night 
as  he  will  go  through  tonight.  But,  wasn't  he  easy; 
never  asked  for  a  single  proof  or  anything  else.  And 
yet,  he's  bright/'  He  reached  over,  touched  a  button  and 
-the  stenographer  returned. 

In  the  quiet  little  four  room  cottage  where  Charley 
and  Mary  Harris  had  established  their  home,  there  was 
little  of  mirth  the  night  after  Charley's  interview  with 
Price. 

From  the  office,  he  had  gone  back  to  the  casting 
floor,  but  how  he  put  in  the  hours  until  the  great  whistle 
sounded  his  release,  he  never  knew. 

He  walked  from  the  works  to  his  home,  and  at  each 
step,  the  weight  upon  him  seemed  to  grow.  It  was  a 
tell-tale  face  into  which  Mary  looked  as  her  husband 
entered  the  door. 

"Gracious  Charley,  what's  happened  ?"  she  asked  even 
before  she  reached  him. 

"I  have  been  dreaming."  He  threw  his  dinner  pail 
into  a  corner. 

"What  is  it,  Charley,  what  is  it  ?" 

"Nothing,  only  I  found  some  one  who  woke  me  up. 
Oh,  what  a  fool!  what  a  fool!"  He  pushed  her  away. 
"Go  away  and  leave  me  alone  for  a  little  while." 

"Not  until  you  tell  me,"  she  insisted. 

"Well  then, — another  man  as  good  as  holds  a  pat 
ent  on  my  machine.  And  he  has  money.  He  can  go 
ahead  tomorrow  and  I  must  wait  until  these  two  hands 
may  dig  up,  by  a  few  cents  a  day,  the  money  I  need  to 
build  my  machine.  He  can  hire  a  dozen  men  tomorrow. 
I  can  go  back  to  work  in  the  morning  and  eat  my  heart 
out." 

"I  don't  believe  it." 

"Believe  what?" 

"That  another  man  has  invented  that  machine.  If 
anyone  has  it,  they  stole  it  from  you." 

"Didn't  he  tell  me  what  his  claim  on  a  moulding  ma- 


238  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

chine  covers?  Well,  he  had  no  chance  to  steal  it  from 
me.  It  was  Price,  our  superintendent." 

"I  won't  believe  it,"  Mary  declared,  and  tried  to 
coax  a  smile  to  his  lips,  but  the  hurt  was  too  deep. 

During  supper  Charley  had  not  uttered  a  word,  and 
suddenly  Mary  burst  out  crying. 

"There,  there,  little  girl,  don"t  cry;  we'll  pull 
through,"  he  assured  her. 

"It  just  seems  as  if  mother's  curse  was  following 
us,"  she  whispered  between  sobs.  "There  was  our  'baby, 
and  it  died,  and  now  you  have  lost  all  you  have." 

Charley  listened  that  far,  then  said:  "Mary,  dear, 
you  must  quit  thinking  about  your  mother's  foolish 
words.  I'll  own,  we  are  having  our  share  of  bad  luck, 
but  sweetheart,  we  are  both  young." 

"Hello,  youse  spoonin'  again?"  came  a  cheery  voice 
from  the  front  door. 

"Come  in,  Mickey,"  Charley  called  to  the  visitor. 

"Not  fer  mine,  when  de  air's  full  ov  ambrosia,  and 
blowin'  towards  de  -stock  yards  at  dat,"  Mickey  declared 
as  he  threw  himself  upon  the  platform  at  the  front  door. 

He  sat  with  his  back  up  against  the  house  for  about 
ten  minutes,  when  Charley  excused  himself  and  went 
t>ack  to  the  kitchen.  When  he  returned,  the  two  sat 
silent  for  at  least  ten  minutes  longer,  then  Charley  ex 
cused  himself  again,  and  this  time  Mary  returned  with 
him. 

After  a  good  evening  to  Mickey,  the  group  remained 
silent  until  Mickey  got  up,  stretched  himself  and  re 
marked:  "Purty  early  fer  frost,  but  I  feels  like  dey 
was  one  billed  fer  dis  end  of  town,  an'  I  guess  I'll  make 
me  sneak  before  it  settles  on  me." 

"Don't  go,  Mickey;  I'm  not  just — well,  not  feeling 
over  cheerful  tonight." 

"Bin  on  de  carpet?    Get  'canned?'  " 

The  visitor  knew  Charley  had  been  called  to  the  of 
fice. 

"No,  I  didn't  get  canned.  I  got  something  worse," 
Charley  answered. 

"Worse'n  de  'can?'    W'y,  w'at's  worse?" 

"Mickey,  I  was  robbed  of  years  of  labor,  of  hope, 
of  happiness,  today." 


THE  VISION   FADES  239 

"Don't  say  that  Charley,"  came  between  sobs  from 
the  doorway. 

"I  will  say  it/'  The  man's  voice  was  hard.  "I  will 
say  it ;  I  was  robbed,  robbed,  robbed !  What  have  I  been 
since  that  machine  first  came  to  my  mind  ?  Nothing  un 
der  heaven  but  a  plaything  in  the  hands  of  a  single 
dominant  idea.  I  planned  all  my  life  around  that  ma 
chine.  I  ate  that  the  machine  might  grow.  I  forgot 
God,  man,  wife,  all,  even  my  own  appetites,  and  gave 
up  both  days  and  nights  to  it.  Fool,  that  I  was ;  if  I  had 
only  had  sense  enough  to  take  out  patents  on  the  ma 
chine  I  built,  but  no,  it  wasn't  perfect  Now,  I  am 
robbed  of  even  the  perfect  machine  and "  he  hesi 
tated,  ran  his  fiingers  through  his  hair,  and  hurried  on, 
"I  could  have  killed  him;  for  a  moment  I  wanted  to; 
I  was  almost  mad." 

"Who  swiped  yer  machine?"  Mickey  looked  up  puz 
zled. 

"Oh,  Mickey,  he  don't  know  what  he's  saying,  he 
don't  mean  that  any  one  has  stolen  it  from  him.  Mr. 
Price  has  invented  one  just  like  it  and  he  has  money  to 
go  ahead  and  get  it  out." 

"Stinker  Price  over  to  th'  works?" 

"Yes,"  Harris  answered. 

"Th'  hell  he  did!  W'y,  say,  he's  a  stringin'  youse. 
Him!  Why,  he  don't  know  enough  t'  invent  nothin' 
bigger  ner  better'n  a  sneaky,  low-lived  lie." 

"But,  he  has  invented  a  machine  so  near  like  mine, 
that  it's  useless  for  me  to  waste " 

"Cut  it  out,  Charley,  it's  a  stall.  An'  anyways,  I 
don't  want  to  hear  dat  stinker's  name  mentioned  less 
de  one  as  does  it  is  a  cussin'  him  good  and  plenty.  Good 
night."  Mickey  started  toward  the  street. 

"Come  back,"  Mary  called  to  him. 

"Not  fer  mine,"  came  from  the  cripple,  as  he  hob 
bled  through  the  gateway. 

For  two  days  after  his  interview  with  Harris,  the 
superintendent  of  the  Holdon  plant  lived  in  an  atmos 
phere  surcharged  with  satisfaction.  Twice  each  day 
he  found  business  to  take  him  to  the  casting  floor  and 
four  times  he  noted  the  disheartened,  dull-eyed  worker, 
who  had  once  had  a  vision,  and  the  more  the  worker 


24O  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

grieved,  the  more  reason  the  superintendent  had  to  re 
joice. 

There  was  but  one  little  cloud  in  his  sky.  On  the 
same  job  with  Harris,  there  was  one  Mickey  Dougherty, 
and  if  ever  unstinted  contempt  looked  out  of  eyes,  if 
ever  good,  honest  Irish  wrath,  ready  to  to  leap  into 
flame,  flared  out  from  Irish  eyes  of  blue,  Price  got  the 
full  benefit  of  their  charge  on  each  trip  made  to  the 
casting  floor. 

"That  twisted  little  devil,"  he  muttered  as  he  re 
turned  from  a  trip  to  the  shop.  "He  looks  at  me  just 
as  though  he  would  like  to  put  a  bullet  through  me." 

The  third  morning  after  his  interview  with  Price, 
Harris  did  not  show  up  at  the  works  and  when  he  did 
not  appear  the  next  morning,  Moran,  knowing  the  in 
timacy  between  Harris  and  Mickey,  inquired  of  the  boy, 
if  Harris  was  sick.  Mickey  gave  his  wits  to  the  prob 
lem  and  answered  :  "Yes,"  then  added :  "He  asked  me 
t'  git  off  dis  mornin' — at  noon,  I  mean,  an'  do  a  errand 
fer  him." 

"All  right/'  said  the  foreman,  you  can  go  at  noon. 
Get  back  as  soon  as  you  can ;  if  he  is  going  to  be  away 
for  some  time,  I  want  to  put  a  man  on  his  work." 

W'hen  Mickey  reached  the  little  cottage  in  which 
Harris  had  lived,  he  found  a  "For  Rent"  sign  on  both 
gate  and  staring  windows.  A  neighbor  informed  him 
that  they  had  moved  out  about  7  o'clock  that  morning. 
Where  had  they  gone?  No  one  knew  unless  it  was  the 
agent  for  the  property.  Mickey  spelled  out  the  name 
and  address  of  the  real  estate  man  and  started  for  his 
office. 

"Darned  if  I'd  a-thoug<ht  Charley  would  a  done  it, 
an'  me  as  good  a  frien'  as  he  ever  had.  He  just  up  an' 
hiked ;  wonder  was  dem  furniture  sharks  after  him.  Any 
ways  he's  gone.  My,  but  he  was  down  in  de  mouth  yes 
terday  an'  de  day  afore.  Bet  anything,  Price  had  some- 
thin'  t'  do  with  his  goin'  so  sudden."  Thus  Mickey 
speculated  upon  the  probable  reason  of  his  friend's  go 
ing  as  he  approached  the  agent's  office. 

Arrived  there,  the  agent  informed  him  that  Harris 
had  moved  to  Alton,  where  he  is  going  to  work  for  a 
stove  company.  A  long  whistle  was  all  the  thanks  Mick 
ey  gave  the  agent  for  the  information. 


THE  VISION  FADES  24! 

"And'  he's  gone  plumb  outen  de  mertropolis.  Well,  he 
wasn't  up  t'  no  city  ways,  an'  I  reckon  he  was  plumb 
ashamed  <t'  tell  me  he  couldn't  stan'  de  gaff."  In  this 
way,  Mickey  justified  his  friend's  unceremonious  leave- 
taking. 

As  he  was  about  to  enter  the  shop,  he  overheard 
Price  and  Moran  in  conversation,  and  halted  with  his  ear 
at  an  open  window  where  he  could  hear. 

"You  say  he's  sick?"  Price  asked. 

"Yes/'  Moran  answered,  "And  I  sent  Mickey  at  noon 
to  find  out  how  he  was." 

"Well,  as  soon  as  he  comes  back,,  ring  me  up.  I 
don't  want  to  lose  track  of  him,  he's  too  valuable  a  man. 
And  while  I  think  of  it,  I  wish  you  would  keep  an  eye 
on  that  cripple,  I  don't  believe  he  has  a  good  influence  in 
the  shop,  and  it  seems  to  me,  he  is  making  a  good  deal 
of  capital  out  of  his  being  a  cripple." 

Mickey  bit  his  lips  and  waited.  "So  Price  didn't 
•want  to  lose  track  of  Charley;  he  was  too  valuable." 
Now  Mickey  was  not  so  dense  but  that  he  could  put  two 
and  two  together,  and  make  them  count  for  four  every 
time. 

It  popped  into  his  head  in  a  moment.  Charley  had 
something  Price  wanted,  and  therefore  it  was  his  plain 
duty  to  keep  Price  from  knowing  anything  about  Char 
ley's  whereabouts  if  he  could.  He  walked  into  the  shop 
and  was  relieved  to  find  that  Price  had  gone. 

"Well,  how  is  he?"  Moran  called  to  him  from  across 
the  room. 

"Folks  is  sick,  and  he's  goin'  to  take  his  wife  an' 
go  -down  home  fer  a  week,"  Mickey  answered. 

"Funny  he  didn't  come  dawn  and  tell  us,"  was  Mo- 
ran's  comment. 

"Would  a-done  it,  but  he  had  t'  hurry  t'  git  out  o' 
town  t'-day ;  so  I  promised  t'  fix  it,  knowin'  youse  would 
n't  care  long  as  it  was  a  case  ov  sickness." 

Mickey  went  at  his  pile  of  castings  with  right  good 
will,  and  many  a  sly  wink  was  bestowed  upon  the  cold 
iron,  as  he  thought  how  well  he  had  succeeded  in  giv 
ing  Price  "de  wrong  steer." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE    ULTIMATE    DEMAND. 

"Fly"  Boyd  sat  in  the  parlor  of  her  apartments, 
beside  the  little  onyx  and  gold  table,  which  held 
place  of  honor  in  the  great  bay-window  overlooking  the 
avenue.  She  awaited  the  coming  of  the  one  man  in  the 
world  with  whom  she  was  in  love. 

Twenty-eight  years  ago  this  woman  was  born  to 
possess  a  splendid  body,  beauty  of  face,  an  abundance 
of  gold-brown  hair,  eyes  of  hazel,  long,  sweeping  lashes, 
arched  brows,  and  lips  full  and  curved  as  artists  paint 
them.  With  all  of  this  physical  perfection,  the  girl  in 
herited  a  well  organized  mentality,  a  disposition  to 
charity  and  a  capacity  for  loving  almost  unbounded,  yet 
we  find  her  here  at  twenty-eight  years  of  age  feeding 
the  vanity  of  a  millionaire,  and  taking  from  him  and 
others  of  whom  he  knows  nothing  enough  to  keep  up 
this  splendid  establishment,  support  her  charities  and 
leave  a  little  for  a  rainy  day. 

If  you  believe  as  you  should  in  the  inherent  virtue 
of  woman  you  will  agree  with  me  that  somewhere  in 
the  life  of  "Fly"  Boyd  there  must  have  been  shipwreck, 
moral  shipwreck,  and  if  there  was  this  shipwreck,  you 
will  not  dispute  me  when  I  insist  that  a  man  intent 
only  upon  making  this  girl  believe  a  lie  in  order  that 
he  might  feast  at  the  expense  of  her  soul  held  the  wheel 
and  drove  her  ship  upon  the  rocks. 

But  our  story  has  nothing  to  do  with  this  ship 
wreck. 

She  enters  our  story  at  a  time  when  but  few  men, 
married  or  single,  priest  or  layman,  might  look  un 
moved  upon  her  beauty.  She  enters  our  story  at  a  time 
when  her  experience  has  given  her  exact  knowledge 
of  the  present  worth,  in  dollars  and  cents,  of  the  mar 
velous  battery  of  mental  and  physical  attributes  of  which 
she  is  possessed. 

242 


THE   ULTIMATE  DEMAND  243 

The  world  is  a-weary  of  the  grossly  sordid  and 
bestial  stories  of  women  who  trade  in  the  lusts  of  men, 
as  published  from  day  to  day  in  ever  increasing  volume 
in  our  daily  press.  But  this  woman  is  not  a  degenerate. 
She  is  womanly,  full  of  sympathy  for  her  less  fortunate 
sisters  in  shame;  and,  capable  of  supreme  love,  she 
uses  her  ability  to  turn  the  appetites  of  polygamous 
mankind  into  gold,  and  as  the  lavish  outpouring  of  their 
treasure  falls  at  her  feet,  it  is  caught  up  and  poured 
out  in  large  part  into  a  hundred  channels  through  which 
it  reaches  poor  souls  in  direst  need. 

This  woman  waits  the  coming  of  the  man  she  loves. 
Who  is  this  one  man  who  may  have  her  love? 

Enter  Mamie,  bearing  a  card  tray. 

"Fly"  took  the  card,  "Jim,"  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  Jim,"  comes  a  voice  from  the  doorway. 

The  rich  color  climbed  from  neck  to  hair,  up  over 
her  beautiful  face  as  she  went  toward  him. 

"And  welcome,"  she  murmured. 

Jim  Gardner,  "Gent,"  Mickey's  "squares'  man  in  de 
world,"  looked  hungrily  into  the  brown  eyes  uplifted  to 
his. 

"Well,  "Fly,"  are  you  going  with  me?"  he  inquired. 

"No,  Jim,  I've  made  other  plans."     She  paused. 

"Other  plans!"  Jim  spoke  in  a  tone  that  implied 
both  surprise  and  disappointment. 

"Yes,  other  plans,"  the  woman  looked  down  and 
seemed  ill  at  ease  under  her  lover's  eyes. 

"But  'Fly,'  you  know  we  had  agreed  that  when  T 
went  East  you  should  go  with  me,  and  Judson  has 
wired  that  we  can  make  a  killing.  I  wanted  to  show 
those  New  Yorkers  the  most  fascinating  thing  in  the 
way  of  a  woman  they  ever  looked  upon." 

"And,  Jim,  you  wanted — you  want  to  parade  me 
as  so  much  fancy  stock." 

"No,  no,  'Fly'— not  that!"  he  protested. 

"Yes,  Jim,  just  that.  "You  have  just  two  motives 
in  asking  me  to  go,  you  want  me  and  all  I  can  give 
you;  then  you  want  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
every  man  who  can  be  influenced  by  such  a  feeling  will 
be  jealous  of  you  and  covet  me." 

Gently  releasing  herself  from  his  arms,  she  stood 
before  him,  bright-eyed  and  serious. 


244  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"God,  but  you  are  ravishingly  beautiful  to-day." 

A  pout  came  to  her  lips  and  her  face  clouded.  Jim 
noted  the  change  and  blurted  out:  "What  in  the  world 
is  the  matter,  Flora?" 

"Not  that  name  from  you."  "Fly"  stamped  her  foot. 
"I've  told  you  before " 

"Girl,  girl,  are  you  going  to  turn  out  like  the  or 
dinary  woman?"  he  questioned  peevishly. 

"No,  James  Gardner,  I  am  not  and — ,  but  what's  the 
use,  Jimmie,  you  won't  understand  me.  You,  who  know 
me  if  any  man  does,  who  always  say  I  am  different 
from  other  women,  even  you  give  me  nothing  that  other 
women  may  not  claim  of  you." 

"'Fly,'  I  don't  understand  you  at  all.  Let's  quit 
talking  in  riddles.  Tell  me  the  truth — why  won't  you 
go  with  me?" 

"Because  another  man  offers  more  for  my  compan 
ionship,"  came  from  her  lips  almost  in  a  whisper. 

Jim  Gardner  sat  stunned.  For  five  years  this  wom 
an  had  professed  to  love  him,  and  as .  he  sat  blinking 
his  big  blue  eyes  at  her  he  remembered  the  sacrifices, 
big  and  little,  she  had  made  for  him.  She,  his  one  sure 
rock  in  time  of  stress,  more  mother  than  mistress,  had 
led  him  out  of  difficulties;  had  bought  him  liberty,  had 
staked  him  when  he  was  "broke,"  had  nursed  him  back 
to  health  when  he  was  sick.  This  woman,  whom  he 
had  proudly  told  himself,  and  immensely  tickled  his 
vanity  in  the  telling,  loved  him,  now  stood  before 
him  dry-eyed  and  informed  him  that  another  offered  her 
more  than  he  could  give. 

"I  won't  stand  for  it,  'Fly !'  "  he  blurted  out,  and  fin 
ished  lamely,  "I  want  you;  I  can't  go  without  you!" 

"Will  you  pay  my  price  ?" 

He  looked  up  and  laughed. 

"Name  it,  girlie,  name  it ;  and  if  it  takes  my  last  red 
copper,  it's  yours." 

"Oh,  Jim,  if  you  only  meant  that." 

"Well^  try  me." 

"Will  you  marry  me?"  As  she  asked  the  question 
she  was  at  his  feet  sobbing  out:  "Do  it,  Jimmie,  I  am 
so  tired  of  this." 

Jim's  hands  fell  across  her  shoulders.  "There,  there, 
girlie,  don't  cry.  I  can't  stand  it." 


THE   ULTIMATE  DEMAND  245 

"But  will  you?"  She  looked  up  blushing  like  a 
girl. 

"Will  I?    Well,  hardly." 

There  was  nothing  of  harshness  in  his  voice,  yet  the 
woman  winced  as  under  a  lash. 

"Just  one  more  chance,  Jimmie,"  lier  eyes  sought 
his,  but  he  avoided  a  direct  look.  "Take  your  time,  I'm 
waiting."  Again  the  regal  head  dropped. 

"What's  come  over  the  woman?"  Jim  asked  himself 
as  he  stroked  the  brown  locks.  "Just  a  whim;  she'll 
be  well  over  it  in  ten  minutes."  Then,  aloud — "  'Fly/ 
you  are  not  yourself  this  morning,  and  in  an  hour  you'll 
be  laughing  with  me  over  your  own  fool  question." 

"Is  that  your  answer?' 

"The  only  one  I've  got  with  me,"  the  man  answered 
lightly. 

The  next  instant  a  new  woman,  one  whom  he  had 
never  before  seen,  was  upon  her  feet  and  pointing  to 
ward  the  door. 

"Go,  Jim;  go  before  I  go  mad;  mad  enough  to  kill 
you." 

"In  the  name  of  God,  Fly,  what  ails  you?"  he 
gasped. 

"Go,  go,  you  brute!  And  I  have  loved  you  so!  O 
God,  I  have  loved  you  so!  Go  away  from  me!"  she 
screamed,  as  he  attempted  to  take  her  in  his  arms. 
"Leave  me,  or,  before  God,  I'll  tell  you  something  that 
will  scorch  your  soul,  if  you  have  one." 

He  persisted  and  Fly  ran  to  the  little  table  in  the 
bay  window.  Reaching  under  it  she  pulled  out  a  re 
volver  and  faced  the  man  she  loved. 

"Not  a  step,  Jim;  not  one,  or,  as  sure  as  there's  a 
God  I'll  kill  you,  and  your're  too  much  the  coward  to 
die ;  too  much  the  coward." 

Jim  stood  white-faced  and  trembling,  his  eyes  held 
to  hers  in  dread  fascination. 

"You  wouldn't  go,  you  drove  me  to  tell  you.  Oh, 
Jim,  if  you  had  only  been  half  the  man  I  have  tried  to 
believe  you  to  be!  If  you  had  shown  only  one  spark 
of  clean  love  for  me,  the  woman.  No,  all  you  want  is 
my  body,  ail  you  have  ever  wanted,  all  you  have  ever 
seen  in  me  was  a  thing  out  of  which  you  could  feed  your 
self.  Faugh !  When  I  think  of  all  I  have  suffered  for 


246  MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

you — you — I  could  kill  you.  Years  ago,  I  gave  you 
money,  a  home,  a  place  to  hide,  and  I  have  caressed 
the  sweaty,  gouty,  pauchy  brutes  who  held  the  power 
to  punish  you.  And  you,  you  poor  bit  of  handsome 
emptiness,  went  free  and  came  again  at  feeding  time. 
And  you  dare  to  spurn  my  love,  you,  who  have  tested 
it  in  all  the  fires  of  the  hell  in  which  we  struggle.  I, 
the  fool,  the  supreme  fool,  with  every  sacrifice  made  for 
you,  you  dog,  I  hugged  to  myself  the  belief  that  any  day 
I  wanted  to  put  you  to  the  test,  any  day  I  wanted* to 
try  you,  would  be  to  me  the  greatest  day  in  my  life. 
Look  at  me!"  She  swayed  as  though  about  to  fall. 
Jim  took  one  big  step  toward  her  with  outstretched 
arms  and  halted.  "Stop!"  The  revolver  was  held  in 
a  hand  steady  once  more.  "Don't  play  with  death,  Jim, 
you  need  to  live  as  long  as  all  women  who  love  are 
fools."  He  dropped  his  head  under  the  utter  contempt 
of  her  eyes.  "Listen,  Jim  Gardner."  Fly  tapped  the 
barrel  of  her  revolver  upon  the  table  top.  "You  think 
yourself  too  good  to  marry  me,  and  you  are  going  out 
of  this  room  to  try  to  forget  me ;  but,  empty  as  you  are, 
you  have  so  much  need  for  me  that  you  would  be  back 
here  whining  to  be  fed  like  any  other  tramp  within  a 
month.  Now  listen,  I  swear  that  I  will  kill  you  if  you 
ever  speak  to  me.  And  if  you  ever  talk  of  your  con 
quest  of  me  to  the  fools  who  will  love  you,  and  I  find 
it  out,  I  will  follow  you  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  and 
hire,  with  my  kisses,  some  other  little  dog  to  put  you 
away.  Now  go !" 

The  woman  dropped  her  revolver  and  clutched  at 
the  frail  table  for  support.  At  each  step  of  the  retreat 
ing  figure  her  heart  was  torn,  and  when  he  had  reached 
the  portal,  her  anguish  became  audible.  Jim  heard  and 
half  turned,  but  did  not  comprehend;  another  step  and 
the  heavy  draperies  had  fallen  behind  him.  Had  he  but 
known  when  that  stifled  cry  reached  him  that  the  wom 
an's  power  for  resistance  was  at  it's  ebb,  had  he  but 
known,  he  might  have  walked  back  and  taken  her  in  his 
arms  and  held  her  slave  to  his  will  at  his  own  price. 
But  he  did  not  know.  Too  dazed  to  have  a  connected 
thought,  he  stumbled  down  to  the  street,  and  taking 
the  first  empty  cab  drove  to  tfhe  Eagle. 


'I  will 


follow  you  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  and  hire,  with  my  kisses,   some 
other  little  dog-  to  put  you  away.     Now  go!" — Page  246. 


THE  ULTIMATE  DEMAND  247 

In  her  beautiful  parlor  a  woman  lies  unconscious 
upon  the  floor;  there  Mamie  found  her  a  few  minutes 
later. 

"Lost!  Lost!"  was  her  moan  as  faithful  servants 
crowded  about  at  Mamie's  call. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

WHEN   JIM   LACKED  SAND. 

James  Gardner  was  put  to  bed  the  night  Fly  Boyd 
had  driven  him  from  her  Michigan  avenue  apartment  by 
his  man  George. 

In  the  first  hours  of  his  defeat  he  told  himself  he 
didn't  care  a  rap,  and  at  each  repetition  of  this  asser 
tion  he  had  imbibed  another  glass,  until  in  the  end 
George  was  sent  for,  and  his  master  went  to  bed  crying 
like  a  baby  and  assuring  George  that  "She's  the  bes-h-t, 
bes-h-t  woman  in  the  worl',  by  gad!  An'  she'll  come 
roun'  all  right,  all  right !"  It  was  different  in  the  morn 
ing.  His  first  sense  was  one  of  outraged  innocence, 
and  he  did  the  principal  part  in  the  play.  When  his 
head  would  consent  to  think  for  him  he  summed  it  up 
about  like  this: 

"She  was  bluffing  you,  Jim,  just  plain  bluff,  and  if 
you  had  called  her  hand  she  would  have  thrown  her 
cards  on  the  table.  All  women  like  to  make  them 
selves  believe  they  own  a  man,  and  Fly  wants  a  bill  of 
sale  for  me.  Why,  if  I'd  have  said,  'Yes,  I'll  marry  you/ 
she  would  have  loved  me  to  death  for  a  month  and 
talked  about  nothing  but  life  in  a  cottage;  then  she 
would  have  taken  another  tack.  I  was  too  innocent." 

At  night  he  had  still  another  view  of  the  matter. 

"Say,  I  wonder  what  she  meant  when  she  stamped 
her  pretty  little  foot  and  told  me  not  to  dare  call  her 
Flora  ?  I  remember  now ;  she  told  me  one  night  a  year 
or  more  ago  that  she  hoped  I  might  call  her  Flora  some 
time.  I  wonder  if  she  does  love  me  so  much  that  she 
wants  to  give  up  the  others?  I  wonder  if  she  does? 
Now,  I  never  felt  that  way  about  her.  If  she  was  my 
wife,  it  would  be  different.  I'd  kill  her  if  she — oh,  hell, 
what's  the  use.  I  don't  want  a  wife ;  this  suits  me." 

"Say,  Jim,  wasn't  she  just  about  the  most  glorious 
picture  you  ever  saw  in  your  life,  when  she  grabbed  up 

248 


WHEN   JIM    LACKED  SAND  249 

the  gun  and  sang  out,  'Go,  you  dog!'  Did  she  call 
me  a  dog?  I  don't  distinctly  remember,  but  it  sounds 
right  when  hitched  on  to  the  gun  play?" 

The  next  day  he  had  still  another  view. 

"That  old  pie-faced  Holdon,  he's  the  boy  who  swung 
her  over.  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it  if  Murphy  hadn't 
told  it;  say,  but  she's  fly!  Here's  me,  doing  things 
for  her  all  these  years,  when  along  comes  this  mil 
lionaire;  what  sort  of  con  does  he  give  her?  I  suppose 
something  like  this:  'I  saw  you  with  Jim  Gardner  not 
long  ago.  Now,  my  girl,  if  you  want  a  chance  to  touch 
up  my  heirs  for  a  million  or  two  after  I  am  dead  and 
gone,  you  just  give  Mr.  Gardner  to  understand  that  he 
is  not  expected  to  arrive  any  more;  then  pay  strict  atten 
tion  to  me/  That's  about  the  way  she  took  it  from  him, 
eve^n  if  he  didn't  say  it  in  so  many  words ;  and  didn't 
she  pass  it  on  to  me  in  a  lovely  manner?  Tragedy 
queens  get  a  thousand  bucks  per,  and  Fly  Boyd's  got 
'em  all  skinned." 

The  next  day  but  one  he  had  still  another  revela 
tion. 

"There's  been  some  one  lyin'  to  the  girl.  Now,  I 
come  to  think  of  it,  I  haven't  been  paying  attention  to 
any  woman  but  her.  Now,  that  is  strange.  Darned  if 
it  isn't  a  strange  sort  of  business.  Well,  now,  let's  see : 
some  mollie  who's  got  it  in  for  me  goes  to  Fly  and  says : 
'Jim  Gardner's  telling  what  a  killing  he  has  made  with 
you  and  that  all  he  has  to  do  is  whistle  and  you'll  love 
the  whole  city  government  for  a  month,  just  to  get  him 
out  of  trouble.'  I  did  hear  a  man  say  that  once.  Well, 
the  mollie  goes  to  Fly  and  puts  it  up  to  her  that  way, 
then  she  sits  down  and  digs  a  plan  out  of  her  dear  little 
head  to  put  me  to  the  test.  'I'll  ask  him  to  marry  me, 
and  if  he  refuses,  I'll  know  the  stories  they  are  telling 
about  him,  calling  me  easy,  are  true/ 

"And  say,  Jim,  you  chump,  you  fell  into  the  trap  for 
all  the  world  like  a  clay  pigeon  goes  out  of  one." 

A  week  later  he  had  still  another  view  of  the  situa 
tion. 

"Say,  old  man,  there's  no  two  ways  about  it.  Fly 
Boyd  either  loves  you  or  all  the  dope  sheets  put  out  by 
the  historical  novel  writers  are  dead  wrong.  Didn't  she 
call  me  a  dog  and  tell  me  not  to  play  with  death  and 


25O  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

ordered  me  to  go,  and  all  the  time  her  eyes  were  asking 
me  to  come  and  take  the  gun  away  from  her?  Lord, 
what  an  idiot  I  was !  If  I  had  just  taken  the  barker  and 
told  her  I'd  be  up  at  nine  p.  m.  and  talk  it  over,  she 
would  have  laughed  and  kissed  me  and  I'd  been  all  to 
the  good.  Instead,  Fm  stung,  and  stung  deep,  too.  Of 
course  she  loves  me;  every  sign  of  it,  and  whenever 
Fm  ready  to  go  back  to  her — well,  I'll  keep  her  waiting 
long  enough  to  teach  her  that  gun  play  is  dangerous, 
even  when  you  don't  shoot.  No,  I  won't.  I'll  go  over 
this  afternoon  and  have  it  all  over.  Gee,  just  thinking 
about  how  good  she's  going  to  be  to  me  almost  pays  for 
the  unpleasant  things  I've  had  to  mull  over  for  a  week 
now." 

James  Gardner,  square  gambler,  big  sport,  and  as 
brave  a  man  face  to  face  with  one  of  his  own  tribe  as 
ever  stood  in  shoe  leather,  north,  south,  east  or  west, 
drove  to  the  neighborhood  of  Fly's  abode,  dismissed  the 
cab  and  then  sneaked  around  the  corner,  and  after  a 
furtive  look  at  the  brown-stone  front  sneaked  back  again 
out  of  sight. 

"My,  but  I'm  a  brave  man;  guess  I  better  mosey 
around  the  block  and  see  if  I  can't  get  my  sand  working 
by  the  time  I  get  around." 

Three-fourths  of  the  way  around,  he  struck  the  Mich 
igan  avenue  pavement.  Straight  north,  six  doors  from 
where  he  stood,  was  the  brown-stone  front,  behind  which 
all  his  trouble  was  to  vanish  as  soon  as  he  got  his  sand 
to  working.  But  his  feet  dragged  and  his  sand  failed 
to  materialize.  He  was  within  ten  seconds  of  his  des 
tination. 

"Say,  Jim,  you  are  a  poor,  ornery  chicken-hearted 
chump ;  there  are  but  three  women  in  that  house,  and  one 
of  them  is  dead  in  love  with  you.  Get  a  move  on  your 
self." 

He  started,  halted,  went  on  again,  and  sneaked  by, 
looking  neither  up  nor  down,  right  nor  left,  until  he 
reached  and  turned  the  corner  where  he  had  dismissed 
his  cab. 

"Confound  the  luck !  I'd  like  to  know  what  made  my 
heart  act  that  way?  Why,  it's  dangerous  to  have  the 
thing  jumping  around  in  a  fellow  like  that,  it  might  get 
loose." 


WHEN   JIM    LACKED   SAND  251 

He  mopped  the  perspiration  from  his  brow,  replaced 
his  hat,  walked  back  to  the  spot  from  which  he  had  re- 
connoitered  before  going  around  the  block. 

"No  use,  Jim.  You're  plumb  woozy.  You  might 
find  sand  enough  to  tackle  a  dray  load  of  devils,  but 
this  is  different" 

At  the  Auditorium  bar  Jim  Gardner  looked  shame 
facedly  at  a  couple  of  friends  and  wondered  if  they  sus 
pected  what  a  double- distilled  fool  he  was. 

The  next  week  Jim  had  gotten  deep  enough  into  the 
problem  to  fairly  understand  its  beginnings.  Murphy 
had  told  him  that  Fly  and  Holdon  had  gone  East  on  the 
same  train. 

He  had  tried  to  take  the  news  without  an  outward 
show  of  feeling,  but  Murphy,  the  best  friend  he  had  in 
the  world,  excused  himself  as  soon  as  he  could  after 
imparting  his  news  and  muttered,  as  he  went  down  the 
street:  "Poor  old  Jim,  I  wouldn't  have  done  it  if  I'd 
known  how  he'd  take  it." 

Jim  followed  Murphy  and  walked  out  toward  Michi 
gan  avenue.  He  halted  in  front  of  a  cafe  he  fre 
quented,  then  turned  down  the  street. 

"No  booze  for  yours  to-day,  Jim,"  he  told  himself. 
"This  thing  you're  up  against  is  too  serious  to  be 
thought  out  through  booze." 

He  tramped  for  hours  and  returned  to  his  rooms 
tired  out.  George  brought  the  ingredients  for  a  whisky 
and  soda,  but  Jim  Gardner,  who  couldn't  remember  when 
he  had  refused  before,  pushed  the  stuff  away  and  asked 
to  be  left  alone  for  the  evening. 

He  carefully  took  up  the  threads  of  life  from  the 
day  he  had  met  Fly  Boyd.  One  by  one,  he  checked  off 
the  services  she  had  rendered  him.  One  by  one,  he 
brought  back  items  of  cash  she  had  advanced;  and  he 
had  not  repaid.  Here  he  buried  his  face  until  its  heat 
was  felt  in  his  delicate  gambler's  fingers.  From  that  he 
went  on  to  the  day  when  he  had  gone  to  her  and  pleaded 
that  she  "fix"  certain  officials,  in  order  that  he  might 
escape  conviction  for  a  swindle  in  which  he  was  impli 
cated  and  which  would  have  sent  him  to  Joliet.  He 
had  known  that  she  had  done  this  thing;  how,  he  had 
never  asked.  What  had  she  said?  It  came  to  him — 
her  burning,  passion-scorched  words.  He  thought  of 


252  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

her  sweet  body,  her  love  of  cleanliness,  and,  like  a  hound 
on  the  scent,  his  mind  flew  to  the  men  with  whom  she 
had  dealt  in  seeking  his  freedom.  As  he  passed  them 
before  him  in  mental  review,  as  each  new  face  came  up 
leering  and  bestial,  Fly  Boyd's  cry  in  protest  against  this 
thing  that  had  been  demanded  of  her  cut  into  his  heart ; 
to  gain  relief,  he  swore  he  would  have  vengeance  on  the 
men. 

Then  came  a  vision  of  a  darkened  room,  and  the 
memory  of  a  woman.  Her  hands  ministered  to  him,  her 
voice  lulled  him  to  sleep  and  came  first  to  him  when  he 
awoke.  Through  the  weeks  of  convalescence  she  had 
brought  sunlight  to  him,  and  when  he  was  strong  enough 
to  take  her  in  his  arms — now  he  remembered  the  look  of 
rapture,  the  hot,  red  blushes — oh,  he  had  been  blind,  and 
all  these  years  he  had  fed  upon  her  bounty,  her  love. 

"Within  a  month  you  will  be  back,  whining  like  any 
other  tramp  to  be  fed."  Hadn't  he  gone  in  just  that 
spirit?  And  all  the  time  she  had  loved  him,  and  hoped 
that  love  would  find  an  answer  in  his  heart. 

"She  was  right,  Jim,  right  as  a  rivet.  You  are  a 
dog,  a  dirty,  dirty  dog.  She  would  have  done  the  world 
a  service  if  she  had  put  a  bullet  into  you  that  day.  If 
all  women  were  like  her  there  would  be  less  dogs  in  the 
world.  But,  Jim  Gardner,  look  yourself  in  the  eye,  and 
tell  me,  are  you  nothing  but  'a  handsome  piece  of  empti 
ness?'  That's  what  she  called  you." 

He  looked  into  the  pier  glass,  drew  himself  to  his  full 
height,  and,  shaking  his  fist  at  the  image  of  a  perfect 
specimen  of  physical  manhood,  concluded:  "Jim,  you 
won't  give  her  up,  will  you?  No,  not  in  this  life.  That's 
right,  old  man ;  stick  to  it." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


THE   MOCK   MARRIAGE. 

When  Fly  Boyd  awoke  the  morning  after  Jim  Gard 
ner's  departure  she  awoke  to  an  old  world  with  a  new 
meaning.  She  had  seen  to  it  that  Jim  would  know 
that  Holdon  was  courting  her.  But  so  long  as  she  had 
faith  that  Jim  would  respond  to  her  appeal  and  through 
(marriage  lift  her  above  the  traffic  of  the  street,  she 
looked  upon  Holdon  only  as  a  means  to  gain  this  end. 

This  morning,  s'he  recast  her  lines,  and  as  she  walks 
back  and  forth,  back  and  forth  across  the  soft  car 
peted  floor,  she  reminds  one  of  a  splendid  tigress,  rest 
lessly  pacing  the  space  allotted  to  her  behind  fixed  bars. 
The  fixed  bars  in  Fly  Boyd's  life  were  bars  to  respec 
tability;  she  had  labored  for  years  to  win  one  man  to 
unlock  the  door  that  led  out  between  those  bars  into 
the  great  world  beyond.  Pacing  up  and  down,  up  and 
down,  facing  life  with  her  love  a  wreck  upon  the  rock 
of  a  man's  cold  sensuality,  she  rebelled  against  a  society 
which  puts  the  keys  to  this  door  to  the  woman's  cage 
in  the  hands  of  the  man,  and  thus  makes  it  possible  for 
him,  however  unworthy  he  may  be,  to  dictate  the  terms 
upon  which  she  may  gain  her  release,  while  he  enjoys 
the  privileges  of  entering  her  cage  at  will. 

When  finally  seated  at  her  secretary,  pen  in  hand, 
she  had  determined  to  wage  relentless  war  upon  the 
world  beyond  the  bars,  and  we  shall  record  the  results 
of  that  warfare  without  pausing  here  to  moralize  upon 
the  attitude  of  this  woman  toward  the  moral  code,  our 
outside-of-die-bars  people  profess  to  uphold. 

The  result  of  her  morning's  effort  with  a  pen  brought 
no  less  a  personage  than  the  Hon.  Horace  Holdon,  to 
her  apartments  that  evening.  All  the  wiles  that  a  beau 
tiful  woman  learned  in  the  school  of  cajolery  might 
bring  to  bear  against  a  man  were  deftly  plied,  and  in 

253 


254  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

the  end,  it  was  decided  that  she  was  to  accompany  the 
magnate  on  his  vacation. 

In  explaining  that  he  might  not  be  able  to  visit  her 
for  three  evenings  during  the  next  week,  the  million 
aire  casually  mentioned  that  he  would  be  in  Battle  Creek, 
Michigan,  during  that  time. 

Holdon's  step  was  still  to  be  heard  on  the  stair  go 
ing  down,  when  the  woman  began  plotting  to  destroy 
him. 

Calling  Mamie,  she  asked  the  girl  to  get  ready  to 
take  a  note  to  a  certain  cheap  hotel  on  State  street. 

The  note  read: 
"Dear  Tom — I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  do  me  a  favor.   Come 

around  to Michigan  avenue  by  nine  o'clock  to-morrow. 

I  wouldn't  ask  this  of  you,  but  you  know  you  have  insisted 
that  you  owe  me  a  debt  of  gratitude;  I'm  going  to  let  you 
liquidate  it  in  full.  Fly." 

Tom  Mitchell  arrived  on  time  and  was  ushered  into 
Fly's  parlor,  to  be  received  with  every  mark  of  affec 
tion. 

"You  poor  old  dear,"  she  pushed  him  into  a  stuffed 
chair.  "You  are  going  down  hill.  What  does  the  doc 
tor  say?"  She  put  an  extra  cushion  at  his  back. 

"Six  months,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

"Six  months?"  She  stepped  back  and  looked  at  him 
wide-eyed.  "Six  months?"  she  repeated,  then  began  up 
braiding  herself.  "Oh,  Tom,  I  hadn't  thought  of  it  be 
ing  anywhere  as  near  as  that — only  six  months." 

"That's  five  months  and  twenty-nine  days  too  many, 
unless  it  takes  more  than  a  day  to  do  that  piece  of  work 
for  you." 

"No,  Tom,  we'll  cut  it  out.  I  can't  think  of  having 
you  expose  yourself — you  might — take  cold." 

"Why,  Fly,  you  talk  like  a  grandmother,"  he  laugh 
ed.  "Wait  a  half  an  hour  and  I  won't  look  so  bad — it's 
the  change  since  you  saw  me — that's  what's  got  on  your 
nerves.  I've  been  this  way  for  two  months  and  I  am 
not  dead  yet." 

"But,  Tom,  I  wanted  you  to  go  to  Battle  Creek, 
Michigan,  for  a  couple  of  days  and  marry  me." 

"Marry  you !"     The  man  stared  vacantly  at  her. 

"Yes,  marry  me  under  another  name."  He  sank 
back  and  closed  his  eyes.  "It's  a  game,  Tom,  a  game 
for  big  stakes,  and  I  wanted  you  to  help  me  play  it." 


THE   MOCK    MARRIAGE  25$ 

"Go  on!" 

"But,  Tom,  you  are  not  fit  for  the  part,  so  we  'had 
best  say  no  more  about  it." 

"Oh,  yes  I  am.  You  know,  Flora,  I  teased  you 
for  years  to  marry  me,  until  I  saw  my  finish,  and  I'll 
do  it  now.  Why,  I'd  do  it  if  it  had  to  be  done  in  the 
name  of  Old  Harry  himself." 

"I  haven't  forgotten,  Tom;  no,  I  'haven't,  and  I'll 
tell  you  now  what  I  never  would  before.  All  these  years 
I've  loved  a  man,  and  just  the  other  day  I  discovered 
that  he  did  not  care  for  me.  So,  you  see,  Tom,  we 
two  have  a  lot  in  common."  S'he  laughed  bitterly. 

"I  know  the  fool,  Flora — but  name  the  day." 

"The  day  will  be  some  time  this  next  week. 

"Who  am  I  to  be  during  the  ceremony?" 

"H.  J.  Holdon." 

"Holdon  ?  Holdon  ?"  He  looked  at  her  with  startled 
eyes.  "Not  the  millionaire  iron  man?" 

"Yes,  Tom,  the  millionaire." 

"The  devil!" 

"No,  the  millionaire,  Tom;  they  have  played  with 
me  for  the  last  time,  from  here  on;  I  am  dangerous  to 
any  man  who  comes  within  reach  of  me." 

"And  here's  wishing  you  good  luck,"  were  Tom's 
parting  words  when  the  plot  had  been  fully  discussed. 

On  Monday  morning,  he  received  a  short  note  at  the 
hands  of  Mamie,  containing  two  crisp  bills  and  a  late 
photo  of  the  Hon.  Horace  Holdon.  This  was  the  pur 
port  of  the  note: 

"Dear  Tom — I'm  sending  enough  stuff  along  to  tog  you  out 
like  the  original  'Iron  Angel/  You  are  so  near  his  size  and 
both  of  you  having  an  equal  amount  of  hair,  the  only  thing 
necessary  to  your  makeup  is  that  you  get  yours  colored  to 
match  enclosed  sample.  Now  don't  be  jealous;  you  will  be  a 
ringer  and  go  under  the  wire  lengths  ahead.  As  soon  as  you 
are  fixed  up,  hike.  Get  into  that  quiet  little  hotel  and  wait 
for  Mamie.  When  she  arrives,  you  can  get  busy.  I  am  glad 
you're  feeling  better.  Ply." 

The  morning  after  his  arrival  in  Battle  Creek, 
Mitchell  received  this  letter: 

"Dear  Tom — Everything  is  working  out  fine;  I  will  send 
Mamie  to  you  to-morrow  with  more  dough.  Get  the  license, 
and  if  there  is  any  kick  on  the  part  of  the  clerk  about  keep 
ing  the  report  back,  put  up  all  the  money  he  wants.  The 
thing  must  be  on  the  quiet;  don't  do  a  thing  unless  you  can 


256  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

'fix'  the  clerk.  Then  go  to  a  minister.  Pick  out  some  poor 
man  who  is  doing  his  best  to  be  a  Christian  on  five  hundred 
dollars  a  year.  The  years  you  put  in  on  the  stage  ought  to 
help  you  through  the  'con'  we  fixed  up.  Don't  try  to  bribe 
him;  put  up  a  strong  story  and  offer  him  one  hundred  dol 
lars.  Tell  him  we  have  more  money  than  we  know  what 
to  do  with.  I'll  depend  on  you  to  clinch  the  first  preacher 
you  tackle.  It  will  be  highly  dangerous  to  have  one  square 
man  with  our  story  in  his  possession  take  to  leaking. 

"Ply." 

The  task  of  marrying  a  'millionaire  without  his 
knowledge  might  have  halted  a  woman  less  resourceful 
than  Flora  Boyd,  but  when  the  Hon.  Horace  Holdon 
stepped  out  of  the  hotel  bus  and  was  followed  by  a 
splendidly  gowned  lady,  when  they  with  other  new  ar 
rivals,  went  to  the  desk  and  the  gentlemen  gave  way 
until  she  had  registered  as  Flora  Marie  Wieboldt  and 
had  'been  assigned  a  room ;  when  she  saw  the  magnate 
crowd  up  at  her  elbow,  and  put  his  great,  sprawly  sig 
nature  on  the  line  below  her  autograph ;  when  she  heard 
him  ask  the  clerk  to  assign  him  to  the  room  next  to 
that  assigned  her,  when  she  saw  how  closely  the  clerk 
observed  her;  she  felt  sure  there  would  be  no  hitch  in 
the  proceedings. 

She  went  to  her  room  and  had  hardly  finished  her 
toilet,  when  the  magnate  was  at  her  door.  There  fol 
lowed  three  days  of  unalloyed  pleasure  for  the  magnate. 
When  he  was  not  busy  closing  up  his  business  affairs, 
he  was  being  entertained  by  a  bewitching  woman.  And 
the  aforementioned  bewitching  woman  allowed  a  number 
of  the  good  citizens  of  Battle  Creek  to  surmise  that  the 
visiting  millionaire  was  a  good  friend  of  hers. 

The  wedding  of  a  spurious  millionaire  and  Flora 
Marie  Wiebold  was  attended  by  Mamie  and  the  minis 
ter's  wife  as  witnesses,  while  the  genuine  millionaire  sat 
in  a  closed  carriage  at  a  point  in  one  of  the  parks  where 
Fly  had  promised  to  meet  him  for  a  last  drive  before 
going  home.  The  minister  had  reserved  his  decision 
as  to  withholding  his  report  of  the  marriage  until  he 
saw  the  bride.  When  he  saw  her  and  she  had  whispered 
that  her  people  had  been  opposed  to  the  match,  that 
she  loved  Mr.  Holdon  and  her  plea  of  secrecy  was  made 
that  he  might  be  protected  from  the  annoyance  of  full- 
page  stories  in  the  Sunday  papers  would  cause  him,  the 


THE   MOCK    MARRIAGE  257 

gooa  man  softened.  If  the  minister  would  only  grant 
their  request,  they  would  be  in  Europe  before  their  re 
spective  families  learned  the  truth.  It  would  save  them 
much  trouble.  Wouldn't  he  do  it?" 

Then  the  prospective  groom  took  a  hand. 

"I  was  opposed  to  a  secret  marriage  at  first,"  he  con 
fided  to  the  minister,  "but  since  Miss  Wieboldt  insisted 
so  strongly  against  publicity,  I  have  concluded  that  there 
may  be  a  good  deal  said  in  defense  of  the  thing.  For 
instance,  before  going  to  Europe  I  have  a  great  deal 
of  business  to  look  after,  and  naturally  I  don't  want 
to  be  annoyed  with  the  worse  than  senseless  drivel  one's 
friends  insist  on  dispensing  upon  an  occasion  of  this 
sort.  Then,  too,  it  would  seem  that  the  law  ought  to 
be  satisfied  when  people  of  our  age  marry  if  we  go 
before  the  proper  officer,  then  go  about  our  business 
without  a  flourish  of  trumpets  and  an  invitation  to  the 
newspaper  people  to  write  us  up  and  lie  about  us  in  an 
unwholesome  manner/* 

The  minister  surrendered,  the  marriage  ceremony 
was  read,  the  proper  responses  made,  and  Mamie  re 
turned  to  the  city  immediately,  carrying  with  her  the 
marriage  certificate,  duly  attested  by  at  least  two  rep 
utable  people,  while  the  spurious  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Holdon 
hurried  to  the  park  where  the  Honorable  Horace  Hol 
don,  all  impatience,  awaited  the  appearance  of  the  bride. 

As  Fly  alighted  from  the  carriage,  Tom  whispered, 
"I  hate  to  give  you  up,  girl — I  hate  it  like  sin — but  here's 
hoping  you  pull  his  leg  for  a  million." 

The  answer  he  received  came  back  on  the  breeze,  as 
laughing,  Fly  hastened  away  to  meet  the  man  of  mil 
lions. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

JOEL'S  PLANS. 

As  Joel  went  out  of  his  father's  office  a  few  morn 
ings  after  agreeing  to  take  a  position  at  the  mine,  he 
chanced  to  see  Mickey  Dougherty  limping  across  the 
street.  At  the  time  he  only  thought  that  the  cripple 
didn't  amount  to  much  and  wondered  how  long  his  fa 
ther  would  keep  him  on  the  pay  roll.  Later,  when  he 
began  to  plan  for  his  little  campaign  with  Estella, 
Mickey  came  back  into  his  thoughts  and  gradually  took 
an  assigned  place  in  the  maturing  plan.  From  the  day 
of  her  surrender  Estella  had  been  pleading  to  be  taken 
away  from  Madame's.  She  would  go  anywhere  and 
remain  out  of  sight,  if  only  she  might  escape  the  mem 
ory,  ever  recurring,  of  her  first  hours  in  the  gilded 
cage.  Besides,  the  whole  establishment  and  everything 
in  it,  save  one  poor,  disfigured,  little  mortal,  had  become 
hateful  to  her.  She  knew  she  had  paid  an  awful  price 
for  one  man's  love;  but  he  was  such  a  persistent  lover 
and  the  picture  he  painted  of  a  care-free  existence  out 
in  some  quiet  little  cottage,  near  to  his  place  of  employ 
ment,  had  so  filled  the  perspective  of  her  vision  that 
Madame's  boarders'  coarse  jests  and  open  sneers  were 
lost  upon  her. 

The  senior  Mr.  Holdon's  announcement  that  he  pro 
posed  to  get  away  from  business  cares  for  a  year  and 
that  he  had  fixed  the  time  for  his  departure  materially 
changed  Joel's  plans  for  the  future.  He  decided  at 
once  to  ask  his  father  for  a  lump  sum  above  his  ordi 
nary  allowance,  on  the  plea  that  he  might  see  his  way 
to  a  profitable  investment  while  his  father  was  away. 
This  appeal  was  favorably  received  and  instantly  met. 
Joel  was  fully  equipped  to  carry  out  his  changed  pro 
gram,  which  had  taken  shape  even  as  his  father  was 
outlining  his  own  pian  for  the  rest  period. 

"Beatrice  is  so  bent  upon  continuing  her  work  in 
258 


JOEL'S  PLANS  259 

the  slums,"  he  observed  to  Joel  over  their  cigars,  "that 
she  insists  upon  keeping  the  house  open." 

"She's  a  fool!"  the  brother  answered.  "Not  as  bad 
as  that,  Joel,"  the  father  quietly  interposed.  "I  take  it 
that  she  owes  this  devotion  to  charity  to  her  mother. 
Of  course  it  is  a  foolish  notion  and  I  don't  like  it,  but 
you  know  how  determined  she  is.  I  had  thought  of 
asking  you  to  live  here " 

"Not  for  mine,"  Joel  declared. 

The  magnate  went  on  as  though  he  had  not  heard 
the  declaration.  "But  since  you  are  to  get  settled  down 
to  something,  and  with  a  man  who  knows  every  kink  in 
the  game,  I  have  had  to  look  up  some  one  else,  and  this 
time  I  found  a  poor  relative  who  can  be  used  to  ad 
vantage." 

"Well,  that's  good,  better  get  all  you  can  out  of  'em 
before  you  die.  They'll  all  be  on  top  of  us  for  a  slice 
of  the  swag  before  you're  cold." 

Joel  threw  his  cigar  away  and  began  rolling  a  cigar 
ette.  The  father  frowned  across  the  table,  but  Joel  met 
his  angry  gaze  without  a  tremor.  "Who's  the  chaper 
on?"  he  inquired,  drawing  a  match  across  the  gold  case 
from  which  he  had  extracted  it. 

"Sister  Nell  Bishop  has  just  written  Beatrice  that 
she  will  be  pleased  to  keep  house  for  her." 

"Not  that  old  fire-eater?  Why,  dad,  the  house  will 
be  overrun  with  woman  suffragists  and  long-haired 
geezers  who  believe  in  straight- jackets  for  such  gents  as 
you  and  I.  I  can  see  Charley  Wetherby's  finish  if  Aunt 
Nell  ever  sticks  her  probe  into  him." 

"I  don't  look  at  it  in  quite  that  light,"  the  father 
hastened  to  explain.  "You  see  Beatrice  has  never  been 
in  close  touch  with  any  of  the  people  who  make  a  pa 
rade  of  their  love  for  the  poor.  When  Aunt  Nell  was 
here  last  Beatrice  was  but  a  child,  and  mother  was  the 
receptacle  into  which  Nell  poured  her  woes.  Now,  I 
have  an  idea  that  if  we  give  Beatrice  about  six  months 
of  Aunt  Nell,  and  a  taste  of  close  acquaintanceship 
with  short-haired  women,  she  will  have  enough  of  the 
whole  tribe  and  will  be  writing  me  to  hurry  home,  so 
we  may  get  back  to  a  sane  way  of  living." 

"There  may  be  something  in  it.  Yep — guess  your 
head  is  as  level  on  this  as  on  biz,  good-by." 


26O  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

Horace  Holdon  sat  at  the  library  table  long  after 
Joel  had  gone.  He  had  arranged  his  business  affairs 
satisfactorily.  Price  was  fully  instructed  as  to  the 
part  he  was  to  play  in  disposing  of  Charley  Harris  and 
his  invention.  Nothing  stood  in  the  way  of  the  Honor 
able  Horace  Holdon's  contemplated  vacation.  Fly  Boyd, 
the  woman  who  had  been  able  to  stir  his  blood,  as  his 
wife  had  never  done,  was  willing  to  visit  the  Island 
Continent  and  Europe  with  him.  As  he  sat  there, 
thinking  of  her — the  physical  expression  of  perfect 
womanhood — he  marveled  at  his  passion  for  her.  He 
reasoned  that  he  could  feed  it  to  death  and  return  to 
business  at  the  end  of  the  year  without  having  a  vision 
of  her  before  his  eyes,  and  a  hungry  longing  for  he? 
presence  eating  at  his  heart  every  hour  of  the  day.  It 
had  been  that  way  with  all  the  men  he  had  read  or 
heard  of.  They  had  been  mad  for  a  time,  then  when 
passion  had  full  satisfaction,  the  madness  had  passed. 
As  he  mulled  over  the  several  cases  with  which  he  was 
more  or  less  familiar,  a  troubled  look  settled  on  his 
face.  In  not  all  of  the  cases  in  review  had  the  woman 
been  willing  to  release  the  man.  Scandal,  murder,  even 
suicide  had  followed.  The  magnate  sat  thinking — yes, 
he  would  give  it  up.  It  was  folly ;  what  would  Beatrice 
think  should  there  be  trouble  in  the  end?  He  would 
go  to  Flora  (as  he  called  her)  and  tell  her  that  his 
business  demanded  that  he  give  it  his  full  attention.  No, 
he  would  not.  To  get  out  of  town  without  seeing  her — 
that  would  be  the  better  plan.  But,  why  not  have  this 
one  fling?  The  glorious  presence  of  the  woman,  her 
hands,  her  wonderful  hands,  her  eyes  looking  into  his, 
her  lips  telling  him  he  was  the  peer  of  any  man  she  had 
ever  met.  He  went  to  the  mirror,  stretched  himself  to 
his  full  height  and  was  not  disappointed  as  he  gazed 
upon  the  well-made,  well-kept  man  the  mirror  reflected. 
He  would  go  on  with  it. 

"You  here,  father?" 

Beatrice  entered  the  library  and  threw  her  arms 
around  her  father's  neck. 

"I  am  so  glad  you  are  going  to  have  a  good  time, 
daddy,  so  glad,  and  besides,  I  want  to  thank  you  for 
suggesting  Aunt  Nell  as  my  chaperon  while  you  are 
away.  And,  daddy,  I  won't  be  horrid  again  if  you 


JOEL'S  PLANS  261 

offer  me  money  for  my  charities.  I  am  glad,  too,  that 
Joel  is  going  to  do  something,  though  I  would  have 
been  better  satisfied  if  he  could  have  stayed  with  us. 
And,  daddy,  you  must  be  a  good  boy  while  you  are 
away  on  the  other  side  of  the  world  and  write  me  just 
lots  and  lots  of  letters." 

"Yes,  yes,"  the  father  promised,  as  Beatrice  patted 
his  hair  and  picked  a  speck  from  his  coat. 

On  the  way  downtown,  Joel  congratulated  himself 
upon  having  a  father  who  would  conveniently  remove 
himself  from  his  little  theater  of  action  at  the  right 
time. 

"I  wonder  if  Mickey  wouldn't  be  just  about  the 
best  person  to  leave  with  Estella  when  we  get  settled. 
He  has  always  been  a  tight-mouthed  chap  as  far  as  I 
know  him,  and  he's  ugly  enough  and  small  enough  to 
be  trusted  with  a  woman,  if  I  can  only  get  him  to  keep 
his  mouth  shut.  I've  got  to  have  some  one,  and  any 
sort  of  a  woman  is  out  of  the  question.  They  would 
blab.  Yes,  I'll  just  have  to  carry  Mickey  away  for  a 
few  months.  I  wonder  what  the  governor  pays  him." 

At  the  Eagle  Club  he  swung  off  the  car  and  entered 
the  club  rooms.  Two  straight  whiskies  found  lodg 
ment  within  his  interior  before  he  went  up  to  his  rooms. 
With  a  cigar  between  his  teeth,  in  his  lounging  coat,  he 
puffed  the  fragrant  smoke  ceilingward  and  finished  his 
plan. 

"Gad,  I  believe  Estella  loves  me.  She  isn't  satisfied 
unless  I'm  with  her  all  the  time.  Lord,  but  I  was  the 
lucky  dog  to  get  her  when  I  did.  And  now  when  I  go 
out  to  our  country  nest,  my  love  bird  will  come  plump, 
plump  down  stairs  and  just  fall  into  my  arms,  with  two 
big  kisses  and  a  squeeze  for  me.  'Now,  Jim/ — isn't  that 
rich?  And  to  think  there  is  a  Johnson  hitched  onto 
the  end  of  it.  Ha,  ha !  What  won't  a  man  do  for  love 
of  woman?  'Now,  Jim,  you  naughty  boy,  don't  you 
know  it  grieves  me  to  have  you  away  from  me  down 
in  that  wicked  city?'  Yep,  wicked  city;  that's  the  way 
she  puts  it.  I  wonder  who'll  be  her  Jim  by  this  time 
next  year?" 

For  a  little  time  Joel  sat  staring  straight  ahead, 
then,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  got  up,  went  to  the  side 
board  and  poured  a  glass  of  brandy. 


262  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

"No,  I  don't  love  her,  it's  just  her  baby  ways  that 
get  me.  By  the  time  they  are  gone  it  will  be  time  for 
me  to  marry  some  one.  Let's  see;  I  guess  I'll  not  tell 
her  a  different  story ;  I'm  in  the  lumber  trade  to  her  and 
to  all  the  folks  I  have  to  meet  in  the  town  I  take  her  to. 
Why  wouldn't  Michigan  City  do  for  our  home;  it's  far 
enough  away  from  her  folks  and  close  enough  to  Chi 
cago  for  me.  Yes,  I'm  in  the  lumber  trade  and  my 
cards  will  read,  'Mr.  Jas.  Y.  Johnson,  Portland,  Ore 
gon.'  That  puts  my  home  address  far  enough  away  so 
that  should  she  ever  take  a  notion  to  make  trouble  for 
me,  she'll  have  a  nice,  long  trip  and  an  interesting  hunt 
for  my  people.  The  next  move  is  to  square  Mickey 
with  the  game  and  take  him  along  to  help  get  things 
in  shape  in  Michigan  City. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

AGITATORS    IN    THE    PLANT. 

Harris  had  been  gone  four  days  and  Mickey  one, 
when  Price  went  to  Moran  to  inquire  if  he  had  any 
word  from  Harris. 

"No,  sir,  and  the  cripple  hasn't  showed  up  this 
morning." 

"Well,  as  he's  the  only  one  who  knows  about  Har 
ris'  whereabouts,  I  wish  you  would  get  his  address  from 
the  boy  when  he  comes." 

Moran,  who  had  made  application  for  membership 
in  the  moulder's  union  the  night  before,  passed  a  wink 
to  Carson,  the  big  moulder,  as  much  as  to  say,  they'd 
keep  Harris'  address  in  their  own  hands  until  they 
landed  him  in  the  union. 

In  the  office,  Hon.  Horace  Holdon  was  giving  his 
attention  to  the  various  bits  of  information  and  in 
struction  he  still  felt  it  necessary  to  impart  to  his  man 
Price,  before  he  started  on  his  vacation. 

"Well,  Price,  before  I  leave,  I  would  like  to  know 
just  how  far  you  have  gotten  in  your  negotiations  with 
young  Harris." 

He  lit  a  cigar,  and  as  Price  wasn't  hurrying  with  an 
answer,  he  went  on:  "I  wrote  our  congressman  a 
month  ago,  asking  him  to  have  a  good,  reliable  lawyer 
investigate  the  matter  thoroughly.  He  reports  that 
there  isn't  a  thing,  either  in  the  Patent  Office  or  in  the 
hands  of  any  of  the  patent  attorneys  he  could  reach, 
that  touches  that  machine  of  Harris'.  So,  you  see,  we 
have  every  incentive  to  push  this  matter  to  a  successful 
issue.  Don't  haggle  with  him;  agree  to  anything  he 
asks,  but  push  the  thing  through  and  be  sure  to  get 
duplicates  of  all  his  drawings.  You  know  the  steps 
to  be  taken  when  you  have  the  whole  thing  in  your 
hands.  Now,  how  far  have  you  gotten  with  him?' 

Mr.  Holdon  leaned  back  in  anticipation  of  a  favor 
able  report. 

268 


264  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"You  know  I  only  got  at  him  last  week,  Mr.  Holdon, 
and  I'm  taking  it  slowly.  You  see,  it's  a  rather  deli 
cate  business,  and  I  want  to  be  sure " 

"Yes,  yes,  that's  all  right,  Price,  but  we  want  to 
make  headway.  I'd  hurry  the  thing  along  as  fast  as 
possible.  When  I  get  back  next  year,  I  expect  to  be  in 
a  position,  with  that  machine,  to  wipe  out  all  competi 
tion  on  small  casting.  We've  got  the  big  business  now 
and  that  machine  will  give  us  the  rest  of  it.  We  must 
have  it,  so  don't  make  any  mistakes  in  handling  your 
end  of  it." 

"Trust  me  for  that.  I  anticipate  but  little  difficulty 
in  landing  Harris." 

With  a  grunt  of  satisfaction,  the  magnate  took  up 
another  matter  in  which  we  are  interested. 

"Here's  a  letter,"  he  said,  turning  with  the  docu 
ment  in  his  hand,  "from  the  Corporations'  Protective. 
They  have  the  required  membership  of  one  hundred 
over  subscribed,  and  are  prepared  to  furnish  union 
moulders,  machinists,  or  other  mechanics,  or  men  who 
will  join  those  unions,  on  short  notice. " 

"That's  something  like,"  the  superintendent  ex 
claimed,  rubbing  his  hands. 

"Yes,  and  I  would  advise  you  to  get  three  men  from 
them,  a  moulder,  a  machinist,  and  a  general  utility  man, 
should  there  be  a  symptom  of  trouble  in  the  shops." 

"I  will  if  it's  necessary,  but  the  men  seem  quiet 
enough  these  days  and  I  don't  anticipate  trouble.  I  did, 
you  know,  when  I  suggested  that  you  go  into  this  Cor 
porations'  Protective  Association,  but  I  guess  the  con 
servative  element  is  on  top  now." 

"That's  good.  Do  you  think  of  anything  else, 
Price?"  He  asked  the  question  with  his  eyes  on  the 
clock. 

"N — o,  I  guess  we  have  everything  well  in  hand." 

In  the  shops,  word  was  passed  from  man  to  man, 
that  Holdon  had  left  the  plant  in  charge  of  "Stinker" 
Price.  To  a  handful  of  picked  men,  word  was  passed 
that  three  foremen,  Moran  on  the  casting  floor,  Weeks 
in  the  tool  room  and  Yancey  of  the  machinists  had 
agreed  to  stand  by  the  unions  and  would  make  room  in 


AGITATORS  IN  THE  PLANT  265 

their  departments  for  men  who  were  competent  organ 
izers. 

About  a  month  after  Holdon's  departure,  John  Bui- 
man  happened  into  the  machinists'  headquarters  just  as 
the  secretary  received  word  that  Yancey  had  come 
across  and  an  organizer  could  be  used  in  the  great 
Holdon  Shops. 

Turning  to  John,  he  asked,  "What  are  you  doing, 
Bulman?" 

"Doing  time,"  John  laughed.  "Doing  time  in  God's 
great  world-prison,  and  unless  I  quit  pretty  soon,  my 
jailer  will  refuse  to  give  me  even  bread  and  water,  un 
less  I  beg  for  it." 

"More  of  your  confounded  Socialism,"  the  secre 
tary  snapped. 

"Why,  no,  that's  nothing  but  gospel  truth,  trimmed 
up  to  take  the  raw  edge  off." 

"Well,  I  was  thinking  of  giving  you  an  organizer's 
job,  but,  Bulman,  you  would  have  to  cut  out  your  po 
litical  work  while  handling  this  job,  for  it  is  delicate  in 
the  extreme  and  a  misstep  might  prevent  us  from  get 
ting  old  Holdon  where  we  want  him." 

"Holdon?    Not  the  Holdon  company?" 

"Yes,  the  Holdon  company,  and  if  we  are  able  to 
carry  out  our  plans  we'll  force  the  plant  into  a  closed 
shop  agreement."  John  whistled. 

"Say,  Barnes,  is  that  where  you  wanted  to  put  me?" 

"Yes.    Yancey,  you  know  him;  well,  he's  with  us." 

"Yancey?  By  the  eternals,  Barnes,  he's  the  strong 
est  man  in  that  shop.  I  want  to  congratulate  you ;  why, 
he's  got  a  head  on  his  shoulders ;  I'll  take  the  job  under 
Old  Man  Yancey.  You  need  not  be  afraid." 

"All  right,"  the  secretary  broke  in.  "How  much  of 
an  advance  do  you  wan/t?" 

John  blushed  as  he  thought  Barnes  had  divined  how 
hard  up  he  really  was.  How  he  had  been  stretching  his 
credit  from  week  to  week,  and  wondering  each  day 
when  the  butcher,  baker,  grocer,  and  landlord  would  be 
gin  to  suspect  that  his  cheery  smile  and  hearty  greet 
ing  were  really  counterfeit. 

"Well,  Barnes,  I  could  use  any  amount,  but  you  see 
when  I  get  on  the  pay  roll,  I  won't  need  help  from  the 
office." 


266  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"The  job  will  pay  you  five  dollars  per  day  and  ex 
penses,"  Barnes  announced,  handing  John  twenty-five 
dollars  and  pushing  a  voucher  out  for  his  signature. 

"And  Old  Man  Yancey  came  over.  Won't  he  be 
surprised  when  I  present  myself  for  the  position?  It's 
just  six  years  since  he  left  the  Nixon  company  and  went 
over  to  Holdon's.  How  he  used  to  curse  the  unions 
and  call  me  an  anarchist.  Won't  he  be  surprised?" 

John  visited  his  grocer  and  butcher  on  the  way  home 
and  informed  them,  as  he  made  a  payment  on  account, 
that  he  had  the  promise  of  a  good  job  and  would  soon 
be  able  to  square  up.  At  home,  he  met  his  wife  at  the 
door. 

"Sweetheart,  we  are  going  to  live  on  Easy  street," 
he  announced. 

"Get  a  job,  father?"  The  question  came  from  Rob's 
room. 

John  released  his  wife,  who  sat  down  smiling 
through  her  tears,  and  rushed  into  the  boy's  room. 

"Sure  thing,  son." 

"Isn't  that  fine?"   The  boy  looked  up  and  laughed. 

"But,  not  a  word  to  our  good  angel,"  the  father 
warned,  with  a  shaking  finger,  as  he  went  back  to  the 
kitchen. 

John  went  to  Yancey's  home  that  night. 

"Well,  of  all  men!  John,  I've  thought  of  you  a 
thousand  times."  Yancey  was  holding  one  of  John's 
hands  in  both  of  his  and  shaking  it,  too.  "Do  you  re 
member  what  a  fool  I  used  to  be,  Bulman?" 

John  laughingly  answered,  "We  all  take  a  turn  at  it, 
Yancey." 

"Yes,  yes,  yes,"  the  host  laughed,  as  he  led  John  back 
to  the  sitting  rom  and  introduced  his  wife  and  daugh 
ter. 

For  a  time,  they  talked  of  the  men  they  had  known 
at  Nixon's,  then  John  broached  the  subject  of  Holdon's 
departure  and  inquired  if  everything  was  quiet  at  the 
works.  Yancey  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  get 
ting  up  suggested  that  it  was  time  they  were  going  or 
they  would  be  late.  Outside  he  said: 

"John,  my  wife  doesn't  know  I've  gone  into  this 


AGITATORS  IN  THE  PLANT  26/ 

business,  and  after  the  way  I  educated  her  I'm  ashamed 
to  tell  her;  and  besides,  I  take  it,  you  came  from  the 
union  and  we  will  need  to  know  we  are  alone  before 
we  begin  to  talk  business. 

At  Holdon's  the  morning  after  Bulman's  visit  with 
Yancey,  three  new  men  were  put  to  work.  Each  one  a 
representative  of  the  organized  workers  in  the  depart 
ment  to  which  he  had  been  assigned.  For  years,  the 
foremen  at  Holdon's  had  had  full  control  of  the  men 
under  them,  both  hiring  and  discharging.  When  Moran 
found  a  man  incompetent,  he  simply  presented  the 
worker  with  a  time-slip  and  sent  him  to  the  office. 
Holdon  had  always  insisted  that  he  could  get  more 
work  out  of  a  foreman  and  the  men  under  him  in  this 
way  than  he  had  ever  been  able  to  get  when  the  fore 
man  had  to  carry  his  grievances  to  the  office.  Price 
had  always  considered  this  a  curtailment  of  the  func 
tions  of  the  superintendent  and  Holdon  was  hardly  out 
of  the  city  when  he  began  to  plan  a  change.  Had  he 
acted  immediately,  three  union  workers  would  not  have 
been  hired  and  four  men  who  bore  the  reputation  of 
being  "leakers"  would  still  have  held  their  jobs. 

Price,  having  finally  formulated  his  plans,  sent  word 
to  five  of  his  foremen  to  meet  him  in  the  office.  Yancey 
was  first  to  arrive  and  his  surprise  grew  as,  one  after 
another,  the  men  came  in. 

Price  gave  each  a  cheery  "Good  morning"  as  he 
entered.  When  all  were  seated,  he  faced  them.  "Gen 
tlemen,"  he  began,  "you  know  of  course  that  Mr.  Holdon 
left  me  in  sole  charge  of  the  business  when  he  went 
to  Europe.  That  being  the  case,  you  can  understand 
that  I  am  anxious  to  make  the  best  possible  showing; 
that  is,  I  want  the  books  to  show  a  gain  in  both  output 
and  profits  when  Mr.  Holdon  returns." 

The  men  looked  at  each  other,  but  did  not  reply. 

"I  have  determined  to  make  an  investigation  of  each 
department  and,  with  your  assistance,  institute  certain 
changes  which  I  have  long  believed  would  benefit  the 
ledger." 

He  eyed  each  man  in  turn  before  he  proceeded. 

"In  the  first  place,  I  want  closer  co-operation  with 
you  gentlemen  who  are  over  the  men.  And  it  has  oc 
curred  to  me,  as  the  initial  measure  in  inaugurating  my 


268  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

plan,  that  it  will  be  necessary  for  me  to  be  as  close  to 
my  working  force  as  possible;  consequently,  from  to 
day  you  will  send  any  complaint  you  may  have  against 
'men  in  your  several  departments  to  the  office,  and  if  on 
investigation  the  complaint  is  sustained,  I  will  eithei 
discharge  or  transfer  the  men  to  other  departments." 

"Mr.   Price,   I  certainly  shall  have  to "   Moran 

interrupted,  when  he  caught  a  signal  from  Yancey, 
"have  to  insist — to  insist  that  my  complaints  be  acted 
upon  at  once,  if  I  want  to  get  rid  of  them,"  he  finished 
lamely,  while  Price  smiled. 

"Certainly,  certainly,  Mr.  Moran,"  he  agreed.  "In 
the  matter  of  hiring  men,  I  believe  the  same  rule  should 
govern,  consequently  you  will  send  men  who  apply,  to 
the  office  with  such  recommendation  as  you  see  fit  to 
give.  I  will  assign  them  to  the  various  departments. 

Wilson,  who  had  charge  of  the  pattern-shop  and  all 
woodwork,  got  to  his  feet. 

"Mr.  Price,  I  want  to  ask  you  one  question,"  he 
announced  in  a  loud  voice. 

"A  dozen,"  Price  replied,  and  added,  "I  would  ad 
vise  that  you  lower  your  voice,  Mr.  Wilson;  I  am  in 
clined  to  believe  that  none  of  us  are  deaf." 

Wilson's  face  was  red  with  anger,  as  he  went  on. 

"The  question  I  want  to  ask  is  this :  Did  Mr.  Holdon 
authorize  you  to  make  this  revolutionary  change?" 

"And  I  must  insist,  Mr.  Wilson,  "that  your  ques 
tion  is  impertinent.  What  Mr.  Holdon  suggested  or 
did  not  suggest  is  outside  the  question.  I  am  in 
charge " 

Wilson  interrupted  in  turn.  "I  object  to  any  such 
change.  I  know  my  business.  Having  held  my  place 
for  more  years  than  you  have  been  here  months  is 
my  warrant." 

"I  am  of  the  same  mind."  Miller,  of  the  shipping- 
rooms  announced  shortly.  While  Price,  giving  all  his 
time  to  these  two  insurgents,  failed  to  note  that  the 
three  union  foremen  had  sent  the  signal  to  "lay  low" 
down  the  line. 

"Mr.  Wilson  and  Mr.  Miller  seem  to  forget  that 
even  a  foreman  may  be  discharged  for  insubordination," 
Price  announced. 

And  the  insurgents  gave  it  back  to  him. 


AGITATORS  IN  THE  PLANT  269 

"Consider  that  you  have  my  resignation  and  act  upon 
it  at  once,"  came  from  Wilson. 

"Here,  too,  you  want  to  get  a  good,  bright  office  boy 
to  handle  my  job,"  Miller  announced  and  started  for 
the  door. 

"Gentlemen,  gentlemen,  this  will  never  do."  Yancey 
was  on  his  feet  and  Miller  stopped  with  his  hand  on  the 
knob. 

While  Price  leaned  against  his  desk,  rather  shaken 
at  this  unexpected  development  of  opposition  to  his 
plans. 

"I  am  inclined  to  think  we  should  yield  to  Mr. 
Price's  suggestion,"  Yancey  broke  in.  "He  has  told  us 
his  single  purpose  in  suggesting  these  changes  is  to 
make  a  better  showing.  Now,  if  the  whole  business 
shows  a  betterment,  this  will  be  reflected,  only  in  lesser 
degree,  in  the  various  departments."  He  paused,  and 
facing  Miller,  gave  him  the  broadest  wink  possible  and 
Wilson  caught  it.  "Now,  I  take  it  that  Mr.  Price  is  not 
going  to  harbor  ill  will  toward  any  of  us,  even  if  we 
have  not  felt  like  giving  up  our  control  over  the  men." 

"Not  at  all,  gentlemen,"  Price  hastened  to  assure 
them.  "I  want  men  who  are  able  to  defend  their  opin 
ions.  If  Mr.  Wilson  and  Mr.  Miller  will  listen  to  my 
further  reasons  for  desiring  this  change,  I  believe  they 
will  take  the  same  view  of  the  matter  as  Mr.  Yancey." 

The  insurgents  sat  down  and  Price  went  on.  "I 
take  it  for  granted  that  each  of  you  appreciates  the 
present  situation  as  regards  organized  labor.  In  this 
plant,  there  is  but  one  department  that  may  be  said  to 
be  a  closed  shop  and  that  is  the  pattern-shop.  In  all 
the  other  departments  we  have  men  who  belong  to  the 
unions  and  those  who  do  not.  As  far  as  I  am  con 
cerned,  I  would  agree  that  this  policy  continue,  but  I 
am  satisfied  that  organized  labor  will  not  be  as  chari 
table.  Some  day,  these  labor  skates,  living  upon  a 
salary  drawn  from  the  wage  of  misguided  workers,  will 
be  forced  to  make  an  effort  to  organize  this  plant. 

It  was  to  circumvent  this  very  thing,  to  make  it  im 
possible  for  the  unions  to  load  us  up  with  their  mem 
bership,  also  to  prevent  some  union  sympathizing  fore 
man — no  reflection  on  any  of  you — from  discharging 
safe  men  and  taking  on  union  men,  which  led  me  to  de- 


270  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

cide  upon  this  change.  In  a  word,  I  want  to  be  pre 
pared  to  meet  any  attempt  on  the  part  of  the  unions  to 
gain  a  stronger  foothold  in  this  plant.  And  I  want  to 
suggest  that  if  any  of  you  have  outspoken  advocates  of 
unionism  in  your  departments,  you  get  busy  and  find 
some  grounds  upon  which  we  may  discharge  them,  with 
out  stirring  up  the  men  too  much.  Now,  gentlemen,  if 
there  is  no  further  opposition" — he  waited,  looking  at 
both  Miller  and*  Wilson — "we  will  consider  the  matter 
as  settled."  No  one  entering  an  objection,  he  continued, 
"I  have  also  decided  to  change  the  present  pay  system, 
at  least  on  a  part  of  the  work,  and  I  have  prepared 
these  blanks.  At  present,  we  have  entirely  too  much 
day  labor,  and  I  want  you  gentlemen  to  make  a  careful 
estimate  on  the  work  you  have  in  charge,  and  fill  out 
these  blanks,  showing  the  averages  as  indicated.  To 
gether  with  this,  I  desire  that  you  should  carefully  go 
over  your  work  and  determine  how  much  of  it  may  be 
put  on  a  piece-work  basis.  I  will  admit  that  the  read 
justment  of  a  wage  scale  is  always  a  delicate  matter, 
but  if  we  go  about  it  carefully  and  make  our  reductions 
gradually  we  may  be  assured  that  the  men  will  not 
cause  trouble,  especially  as  we  have  but  few  organized 
workers  to  deal  with.  When  you  turn  in  these  reports, 
and  I  would  like  to  have  them  by  Saturday  noon,  we 
will  be  well  along  toward  a  practical  application  of  my 
plan." 

The  men  filed  out. 

"Drunk   with  power,"   Wilson  commented. 

"I'd  like  to  see  him  cut  wages  in  the  pattern-shop," 
was  Miller's  grim  comment. 

Yancey,  Moran  and  Brush,  had  occasion  to  visit  each 
other  that  afternoon. 

"I'm  going  to  slash  my  non-union  men  to  the  core," 
Moran  told  Yancey. 

"Say,  Yancey,"  Brush  whispered  when  the  machinist 
called  upon  him,  "I'm  going  to  put  three-fourths  of  my 
men  on  piece-work  and  set  the  price  where  they  will 
have  to  hump  to  save  themselves  from  a  twenty  per 
cent  loss  in  wages." 

Yancey  laughed  and  went  back  to  his  department. 
He  went  to  Bulman,  and  told  him  of  the  conference. 

"You  say  you  are  all  right  with  him?     Then  for 


AGITATORS  IN  THE  PLANT  2/1 

God's  sake  keep  right.  You  may  be  the  means  of  saving 
the  whole  works." 

"I  don't  see  how,"  said  Yancey. 

'Til  tell  you.  If  you  are  in  his  confidence,  go  to 
him  and  suggest  that  he  ought  to  have  two  or  three 
good  safe  men  who  could  get  into  the  unions,  so  as  to 
keep  posted.  If  this  company's  already  in  the  spy  fur 
nishing  conspiracy  against  the  workers,  he'll  give  it 
away." 

"But,  Bulman,  won't  that  fix  my  clock,"  Yancey  de 
manded.  "Suppose  the  spies  get  into  the  union,  where 
do  I  get  off?" 

"Nixie,  the  first  spies  they  send  out  here,  will  get 
their  blocks  knocked  off  before  they  ever  see  the  union. 
We  need  the  spies  in  our  business.  You  know  there  are 
several  men  under  you  that  you  are  afraid  to  trust.  Well, 
the  spy  comes  on  and  lines  them  up.  We  pass  the 
word  to  all  the  men  we  can  trust  to  lay  low,  and  you 
and  the  spy  and  Price  do  business.  In  this  department, 
we  want  our  spy  to  be  a  man  who  is  willing  to  join  the 
union;  be  sure  to  get  that  kind.  Then  we'll  get  a  line 
on  the  men  and  later  initiate  the  spy  and  he'll  never  for 
get  it  as  long  as  he  lives." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

MICKEY  IN  A  NEW  SETTING. 

"Dey's  somethin'  rotten  wrong  in  dis  house;  de 
Missus  is  a  bein'  flim-flammed.  She  ain't  none  of  yer 
fly-up-the-creeks ;  she's  a  lady,  an'  by  grab,  I  loves 
(her." 

The  speaker,  our  old  friend  Mickey,  brought  his 
knuckles  down  upon  the  floor  of  the  little  back  porch 
with  such  emphasis  that  the  next  moment  he  had  them 
before  his  lips  blowing  for  dear  life. 

"He's  another  stinker,  James  Y.  Johnson  is,  th' 
dirty  welcher.  An'  here's  me  as  thought  first  off  dat 
de  girl  was  one  of  dem  as  changes  deir  names  over 
night.  But  she  ain't;  she's  jest  de  sweetest  piece  o' 
calico  in  de  world,  an'  Joel  Holdon,  he  lied  like  a  dog 
first  t'  her  an'  den  t'  me." 

"Mickey,  Mickey,  come  here,"  a  voice  floated  out 
from  the  kitchen. 

"Listen  t'  dat,  now,  just  like  a  bird."  The  cripple 
sprang  to  his  feet.  "Comin',  Missus." 

"Oh,  Mickey,  Mr.  Johnson  writes  me  from  Chicago 
that  he  will  be  home  to-morrow.  He's  just  back  from  a 
trip  west." 

"Huh ;"  Mickey  snorted,  <and  the  young  woman  paus 
ed,  flushed,  and  looked  at  him  steadily.  Laying  down 
the  letter,  she  sat  looking  at  him  until  he  became  rest 
less  under  her  steady  gaze. 

"Mickey,"  she  began,  "I  have  often  caught  you  look 
ing  at  me  as  though  you  were  trying  to  make  up  your 
mind  to  either  ask  me  a  question  or  tell  me  something, 
which  was  it?"  She  smiled  and  Mickey,  shuffling  his 
feet,'  stammered  an  incomprehensible  answer. 

"Which  was  it,  Mickey?"  There  was  pleading  in  her 
voice ;  a  pleading  the  great  heart  in  him  could  not  easily 
resist. 

"Both  ov  'em,  Missus;  both  ov  'em."  He  looked 
272 


MICKEY  IN  A  NEW  SETTING  273 

into  her  beautiful  eyes;  looked  and  was  blinded;  for,  in 
the  months  he  had  served  her  as  chore  boy,  a  man's 
love  had  come  to  dwell  with  him,  a  poor  misshaped  bit 
of  abused  clay.  "But,  Missus,  I  don't  dare  t'  ask  youse 
nothin',  an'  I  don't  dare  t'  tell  youse  nathin' — least  not, 
till  yer  man  has  gone  away  agin." 

"Gone  away  again,  Mickey !  Gone  away  again !  You 
must  be  joking.  James  is  not  going  away  again  until 

after "  She  blushed.  "Well,  not  for  a  long,  long 

time." 

"I  hopes  so,  lady,  God  bless  youse,  I  hopes  so;"  and 
Mickey  hurried  out. 

For  a  time,  Estella  sat  dreaming  of  the  home-coming 
of  her  lord  and  master,  planning  her  little  campaign  of 
endearments  and  the  future  she  anticipated. 

"Well,  I  declare,"  she  exclaimed,  running  to  the 
door.  "I  forgot  that  I  wanted  Mickey  to  go  downtown 
for  me.  Mickey!  Oh,  Mickey!" 

On  the  way  downtown,  Mickey's  emotions  well  nigh 
choked  him. 

"Mr.  Johnson,  who's  Mr.  Johnson,"  he  muttered. 
"Dat  I  passes  me  word  t'  th'  welcher  dat  I  don't  never 
breathe  his  name  t'  no  one — an'  I  done  it  afore  I  know- 
ed  w'at  he  wanted  ov  me.  If  I'd  a-knowed  w'at  he  was 
doin' — if  I'd  a-knowed.  But,  he  ain't  seed  th'  last  of 
de  deal — not  by  no  manner  ov  means,  he  ain't."  Mickey 
shook  his  fist  at  a  telephone  pole  at  that  moment  doing 
duty  in  his  imagination  as  Mr.  James  Y.  Johnson. 
"Youse  jist  try  it  on,  Mr.  Johnson — youse  jist  get  gay 
an'  go  to  a  makin'  her  cry,  an'  carry  on — youse  jist 
try  it!" 

On  the  way  back  home  he  began  to  dig  deeper  into 
the  relationship  existing  between  his  master  and  mis 
tress. 

"I'd  give  a  purty  t'  know  how  he  got  her — why,  she's 
a'  angel.  An'  all  th'  time  she  talks  jist  like  she's 
fixed  fer  life.  I  knows  she  thinks  she's  his  wife,  all 
regular,  but  it  stands  t'  reason  she  ain't.  Fer  why,  she 
thinks  his  name  is  Mr.  Johnson,  w'en  I  knows  it's  Joel 
Holdon;  an'  she  thinks  he's  a  workin'  in  a  lumber 
biz  somewheres,  w'en  he's  jist  gamblin',  an'  lushin',  an' 
spendin'  de  old  man's  coin."  As  he  came  in  sight  of 
the  little  cottage,  he  looked  up.  "Dere  she  is,  an'  she's 


274  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

a  thinkin'  Joel  Holdon  is  a-comin'  home  t'  stay.  I  wisht 
I  hadn't  never  promised  him  nothin'." 

After  delivering  his  purchases  into  the  hands  of  his 
mistress,  he  went  to  his  room  to  think  over  the  situa 
tion. 

The  next  day,  Estella,  all  a-flutter  with  excitement, 
sent  Mickey  down  to  meet  the  first  train  from  the  city, 
telling  him  Mr.  Johnson  would  probably  have  more 
packages  than  he  could  conveniently  carry.  The  train 
came  and  Mickey  hurried  home. 

"I  thought  youse  might  be  anxious,"  he  told  her,  and 
went  back  to  meet  the  next  train.  Four  times,  he  made 
his  round  trip  that  day,  and  each  time  the  mistress  had 
shown  deeper  distress.  "Ef  he  don't  come,  I'll  go  an' 
git  him — he'll  come  w'en  I  whistles — I'll  bet  him  dat," 
was  his  grim  comment  as  he  went  back  for  the  nine- 
twenty  train. 

Mr.  Johnson  swung  down  from  a  Pullman,  spied 
Mickey,  handed  him  a  suitcase  and  parcel. 

"Well,  Mick,  how's  things  up  at  the  palace?" 

"All  O.  K.,  captain,  an'  she's  bin  a  waitin'  fer  youse 
all  day.  I  made  every  darned  train  on  de  card;  next 
time  youse  'ud  greatly  oblige  me  by  a-statin'  w'at  train 
yer  a-goin'  t'  fetch  up  on,  see?" 

"And  she's  been  looking  for  me  all  day?  Well,  I 
have  been  gone  a  long  time."  He  turned  square  upon 
the  cripple.  "Say,  Mick,  think  she  smells  a  mouse?" 
Mickey  did  not  answer  as  quickly  as  his  master  expected. 
"Hey,  Mick,  are  you  dreaming?  Why  don't  you  an 
swer?" 

"I  didn't  know  any  mouse  was  dead,"  was  the  an 
swer,  and  it  came  in  a  muffled  voice. 

"Answer  my  question,"  Joel  commanded. 

"Well,  no,  captain,  I  don't  reckon  dere's  anybody  on 
dis  here  earth  'ud  make  her  smell  a  mouse  lest  youse  did 
it  yerself." 

"You  haven't  talked  to  her,  told  her  anything?" 

"No,  captain." 

"Has  she  had  any  visitors  since  I've  been  gone?" 

Mickey  set  the  suitcase  down  and  laid  the  parcel 
on  top  of  it,  while  Joel  stood  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  wondering. 

"See  here,  Mr.  Joel  Holdon,  I " 


MICKEY  IN  A  NEW  SETTING  275 

"Shut  up,  you  fool !"    Joel  had  him  by  the  collar. 

"Let  loose  ov  me,  youse  welcher!"  Mickey  exploded 
and  began  kicking  and  scratching  for  all  he  was  worth. 

Joel  let  loose  and  backed  off. 

"Well,  what's  the  matter  with  you?"  he  asked  the 
panting  cripple. 

"Nothin'  ain't  th'  matter  with  me?  Oh,  no!  I'm 
all  right,  all  right."  Mickey  laughed  wickedly.  "Youse 
put  yer  han's  on  me  agin  an'  see.  I'll  rip  th'  guzzlins 
out  of  youse,  see  ef  I  don't." 

"Pick  up  those  traps,  you  little  devil,  and  come  along. 
I'll  settle  with  you  to-morrow."  Joel  turned  on  his  heel 
and  went  on  towards  *he  house. 

Mickey  came  behind  muttering — "Hires  me  t'  work 
fer  him  an'  makes  me  promise  I  won't  never  tell  no 
one  he's  a  liar  an'  a  fraud.  Now  he  wants  me  to 
spy  on  th'  woman  he's  a-foolin'  with — me  as  'ud  lay 
.  down  in  dis  street  an'  let  all  de  wagons  in  town  run 
over  me  ef  ut  'ud  do  her  any  good  in  de  world.  He's 
go-in'  t'  settle  with  me  to-morrow — no,  no,  I  don't  git 
'canned' — not  dis  trip.  Me  wages  goes  up,  an'  I  buys 
a  gun  an'  learns  to  shoot  it,  too ;  an'  as  long's  I'se  actin' 
a  lie  every  day  an'  am  a  helpin'  t'  spoil  her  life,  why 
they  can't  be  no  more  sin  in  lyin'  t'  him — an'  I'm  goin' 
f  do  it,  see  ef  I  don't." 

The  next  morning,  Mickey  was  down  in  the  kitchen 
kindling  a  fire,  when  Joel  entered.  He  stood  looking 
at  the  cripple  for  a  long  time. 

"Say,  youse  have  knowed  me  fer  some  time,  ain't 
yer?"  The  cripple  turned.  Joel  laughed. 

"Well,  Mick/'  said  he.  "You  haven't  forgotten  our 
little  misunderstanding  of  last  night,  I  see.  But,  what 
the  devil  you  got  mad  at  is  beyond  me." 

"I  ain't  mad,"  Mickey  announced,  and  to  drown  the 
sound  of  the  lie  in  his  own  ears,  he  created  a  great  com 
motion  among  the  stove  lids. 

During  the  commotion,  Estella  entered  the  room,  her 
eyes  red  from  weeping,  and  'her  pretty  face  showing 
evidence  of  having  passed  through  a  storm.  Joel  look 
ed  quickly  from  one  to  the  other  of  these  two  persons 
he  played  with;  but  if  he  hoped  to  catch  a  covert  look 
of  mutual  understanding  or  sympathy,  he  failed.  Mickey 
with  one  swift  look  as  Estella  entered  the  door,  read 


276  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

enough  to  put  him  on  his  guard,  and  as  soon  as  he 
could,  he  got  out  of  the  kitchen. 

After  breakfast,  Joel  called  him  and  ordered  the 
suitcase  he  had  brought  the  night  before,  taken  to  the 
depot. 

"Hike  out  with  it,  Mickey — I'll  be  down  in  time  for 
the  ten  o'clock  train."  With  that,  he  hurried  back  to  the 
house. 

"Well,  I'll  be  literally  chawed  inter  bits;  an'  he's 
goin'  ter  quit  her  to-day,  after  all  she's  'been  plannin' 
fer  him — th'  brute !  Oh,  Mickey,  Mickey,  ef  youse  was 
jist  as  big  as  Jim  Jeffries,  wouldn't  youse  take  de  low 
lived  stinker  by  de  back  ov  de  neck  and  shake  th'  devil 
out  ov  him  ?  Wouldn't  youse  ? — well,  I  guess  yes."  He 
halted  out  of  sight  of  the  house,  threw  the  suitcase  on 
-the  pavement,  kicked  it  up  against  the  fence,  sat  upon 
it  and  took  stock  of  the  situation.  "Now,  he's  goin'  t' 
try  t'  shake  her,  dat's  plain  as  a  cop  in  a  saloon,  an' 
he  can't  no  ways  do  it  less  he  squares  me — dat's  more 
of  it.  Now,  spose  he  tries  t'  square  me — how  much  am 
I  goin'  t'  touch  him  fer?  But  first,  is  he  a-goin*  f 
square  me  ?  Yep,  less  he's  lookin'  fer  about  all  kinds  ov 
'hell  t'  break  loose — an'  am  I  goin'  t'  stay  squared — yep 
agin  Mickey,  till  youse  gits  enough  rocks  t'  take  de 
missus  back  t'  'Chi.'  when  th'  house  falls  down."  Pick 
ing  up  the  baggage,  he  trudged  on  and  reached  the  de 
pot  just  a  few  minutes  before  Joel  entered.  His  face 
flushed  and  his  voice  hoarse. 

"Hi,  there,  Mick,"  he  sang  out.  "Bring  that  lug 
gage  over  here." 

When  the  cripple  set  the  suitcase  down  at  the  side 
of  the  seat,  Joel  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"Sit  down  here,  Mickey;  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  Now 
see  here,  I  want  to  have  a  thorough  understanding  with 
you.  You  remember,  you  promised  me  you  would  never 
tell  any  one  anything  about  this  little  spree  of  mine." 
Mickey  nodded.  "You  promised  also,  that  you  would  not 
let  Estella  pump  anything  out  of  you."  Another  nod. 
"Well,  have  you  kept  your  word  ?" 

"Yes,  siree.  Kept  it  t'  date,  captain."  He  looked 
up  squarely.  "But,  I'm  goin'  t'  quit  t'-day." 

"The  devil  you  are !" 

"Yep,  dis  's  my  last  trip  fer  youse." 


MICKEY  IN  A  NEW  SETTING  277 

"What's  the  rip,  Mickey?"  Joel  showed  his  uneasi 
ness. 

"De  game  isn't  goin'  to  be  jist  as  pleasant  as  pick- 
nickin'  frum  now  on — an'  th'  wages  is  too  small  fer  me 
t'  listen  t'  a  cryin'  woman — an'  stan'  all  th'  pumpin' 
they's  likely  t'  be  'fore  youse  git  her  palmed  off  onto 
some  other  guy." 

•  •<>  "So  that's  it.  Mickey,  you  gave  me  a  -bad  turn  last 
night ;  I  thought  you  had  gone  over  to  the  side  of  virtue, 
and  was  going  to  work  for  love" — the  cripple  winced  and 
looked  down — "instead  of  working  for  me  and  money." 

"No  danger  ov  me  gittin'  much  out  ov  love,  is  dey, 
captain?"  The  bitterness  in  the  face  of  the  youth  de 
ceived  Joel,  who  took  it  to  mean  that  the  lad's  misfor 
tune  had  made  him  immune. 

"That's  right,  Mick,  there  is  mighty  little  in  it  but 
trouble  anyway.  You're  as  well  off — and  now  to  busi 
ness.  I'll  give  you  two  dollars  per  day,  and  you  are  to 
look  after  things  closely  and  keep  me  posted  about  how 
she  acts.  I  won't  see  her  again  for  a  month,  and  by 
that  time  she  ought  to  have  sense  enough  to  see  what's 
up,  and  begin  to  talk  sense.  I  want  you  to  go  to  a 
second-hand  man  some  day  this  week  and  sell  all  the  furni 
ture,  everything,  and  I'll  write  her  'where  to  go.  I  left  two 
hundred  dollars  up  at  the  house  in  the  first  volume  of 
Cooper's  works;  you  take  charge  of  it,  and  if  you  get 
her  to  move  out  of  here  quietly,  I'll  give  you  all  you 
get  out  of  the  furniture  and  stuff  up  at  the  house.  The 
two  hundred  dollars  is  to  see  you  settled  at  the  other 
end  of  the  line." 

Mickey  was  puzzled — his  question  showed  it. 

"What — what  youse  want  t'  move  fer?" 

"Well,  Mick,  since  you  are  going  to  stand  by  me 
until  I  get  out  of  this  scrape,  I'll  tell  you.  Estella  hasn't 
had  any  more  sense  than  to  get  into  trouble,  and  if  we 
stay  here,  all  the  old  cats  in  the  neighborhood  will  know 
all  she  can  tell  them;  and  she  told  me  last  night  that 
four  or  five  of  them  were  getting  very  friendly." 

Mickey  bit  his  lips  until  he  almost  cried  out.  The 
train  whistled;  Joel  pulled  out  a  card  and  scribbled  an 
address  upon  it. 

"Don't  ever  let  her  see  that  card — she's  got  a  differ 
ent  address.  When  I  get  you  moved,  I'll  give  you  an- 


278  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

other  name  and  you  can  get  my  letters  without  any  dan 
ger  of  her  getting  next.  Don't  forget  about  the  furni 
ture.  I'll  write  or  wire  her  where  you  are  to  go." 

Here  the  train  pulled  in  and  Joel  climbed  aboard. 

"Well,  w'at  d'  youse  think  ov  dait,  Mickey  Dougherty  ? 
Th'  cold-blooded  sinner.  He's  goin'  t'  move  her,  an' 
as  soon  as  she  gits  a  friend  dere  we'll  move  agin,  until 
she  gits  tired  an'  either  kills  herself  'r  goes  straight  t' 
th'  devil.  An'  I'm  t'  help  de  son-of-a-gun.  But  say, 
I'm  goin'  t'  have  de  money  t'  help  put  a  spoke  in  his 
wheel."  Slowly  he  made  his  way  home.  "I'd  drather 
be  in  de  hot  place  with  me  feet  in  th'  fire  dan  t'  go 
an'  have  her  ask  me  anything,"  he  told  himself  as  he 
halted  at  the  gate. 

Yesterday,  he  had  stood  at  this  same  gate  and  lis 
tened  to  her  sweet  love  song,  sung  for  a  man  unworthy. 
He  waited,  pretending  to  be  interested  in  the  traffic  of 
the  street,  lest  she  should  chance  to  see  him  and  suspect 
'him  of  listening. 

"She  ain't  singin'  dis  mornin',  poor  little  bird,"  he 
whispered  as  he  slammed  the  gate  and  whistled  to  let 
'her  know  that  he  had  arrived. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


A    HOBBY   AND   ITS   RIDER. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Bulman,  I  came  all  the  way  over  here 
alone,  just  to  see  you,  so  you  must  be  good  and  do 
what  I  ask."  The  speaker,  Miss  Holdon,  came  out  of 
the  sick  boy's  room  to  meet  John  as  he  came  into  the 
living  room. 

"Well,  I  declare!"  John  exclaimed,  extending  his 
hand.  "How  are  you  ?  Do  you  know,  I've  been  wonder 
ing  how  your  new  hobby  behaved.  I  was  thinking  of 
you  as  I  came  home,  and  mourned  because  the  great 
cause  loses  your  enthusiasm  while  you  spend  your  efforts 
trying  to  break  new  hobbies  to  ride."  His  eyes  nar 
rowed  to  a  mere  slit,  and  his  face  took  on  a  look,  half 
banter,  half  protest.  "Do  you  know  what  set  me  think 
ing  of  you  ?" 

"No,  I  don't,  and  besides,  you  are  real  mean  to  call 
me  a  hobby  jockey." 

"Well,  do  you  want  to  know?" 

"Of  course  I  do.    Tell  me." 

"All  right,  Miss  Holdon.  It  was  a  corps  of  the 
Salvation  Army,  marching  with  music  and  song,  up  and 
down  a  nasty,  dirty,  half-paved  street.  I  stood  and 
watched  them  quite  a  spell.  The  great  majority  of  them 
believe  in  their  work,  are  consistent,  earnest  and  intense ; 
but  how  much  enthusiasm  they  are  wasting!  They  be 
wail  the  effects  of  sin,  when  they  might  so  easily  reach 
down  to  grapple  with  the  great  primal  cause  of  sin  and 
suffering.  I  came  along  toward  home,  and  from  think 
ing  of  them  I  came  to  think  of  you  and  your  work." 

"And  you  think  it  useless  ?"  she  demanded,  but  with 
out  resentment. 

"No,  only  a  great  waste  suffered,  that  a  mite  of 
transient  good  may  be  accomplished." 

"But  surely,  Mr.  Bulman,  you  do  not  understand  the 

279 


28O  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

work  I  am  doing  now,"  she  insisted,  with  a  strong  in 
flection  on  the  "now." 

"No?" 

"I  came  here  to-night  to  get  you  to  assist  me,  at  least 
to  the  extent  of  delivering  one  address  before  our  new 
club." 

"And  because  I  call  your  work  a  hobby,  you  think 
I  am  going  to  disappoint  you  ?"  John  laughed.  "No,  no, 
Miss  Holdon,  nothing  in  the  world  so  delights  a  Socialist 
as  to  be  able  to  put  burs  under  the  saddle  on  a  hobby 
horse,  then  watch  the  animal  throw  the  next  one  who 
mounts  it." 

"That's  perfectly  horrid  of  you,"  Beatrice  pouted. 
Then,  brightening,  went  on:  "I  challenge  you  to  make 
your  old  Socialist  burs  stick  this  time — so  there !" 

"I've  put  my  foot  in  it,  haven't  I,  mother?"  he  in 
quired  of  his  wife,  who  sat  smiling. 

"Trust  Miss  Holdon  for  that,"  she  answered. 

John,  with  a  hearty  laugh,  turned  his  attention  to 
their  visitor. 

"You've  heard  it  said  that  a  thorough  Socialist  never 
was  known  to  refuse  an  opportunity  to  try  the  sticking 
qualities  of  his  burs,  have  you  not?" 

"I've  heard  it  said,  and  quite  recently,  that  a  So 
cialist  never  knew  when  he  was  worsted  in  an  argument, 
because,  because" — the  girl  seemed  embarrassed,  and 
John  laughingly  finished  the  statement  for  her.  "Be 
cause  his  premise  is  impossible,  his  whole  philosophy  in 
the  air,  as  it  were." 

"That's  it,  that's  it !"  she.  exclaimed,  "but  I  don't 
believe  half  of  it.  You  know  there's  lots  of  things  upon 
which  we  agree." 

"Yes,  I  know  you're  playing  with  fire,  but  we  won't 
discuss  that  any  more.  When  do  I  get  my  chance  to 
try  the  burs  on  your  hobby?"  He  was  smiling  at  her 
as  he  asked  the  question. 

"Two  weeks  from  to-night,  at  my  house,"  she  re 
plied. 

"At  your  home?  Why,  is  it  possible  that  you  arc 
going  to  carry  open  rebellion  against  capitalism  into 
your  home?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Bulman,  you  always  put  things  in  such  an 
extreme  way,"  she  protested. 


A    HOBBY   AND    ITS   RIDER  28 1 

"Yes,"  John  answered,  ''there  are  two  extremes. 
Your  splendidly  appointed  home  represents  one,  the  so 
cial  rebel  you  invite  to  enter  its  beautiful  portals  repre 
sents  the  other,  and  we  cannot  harmonize  or  fra 
ternize." 

"You  might  come  under  a  flag  of  truce,"  the  girl  in 
terposed,  brightly. 

"No,  not  in  this  fight,  where  no  quarter  is  asked,  and 
none  is  given.  The  struggle  is  to  the  death;  the  white 
flag  never  flies.  I  might  add" — his  tyes  twinkled — "that 
stragglers  between  the  lines  mounted  on  hobbies  that 
rock  forward  and  back,  back  and  forward,  are  apt  to 
get  hurt." 

"Anyway,  I  promise  you  we  shall  not  take  you  cap 
tive,"  the  girl  said,  as  she  got  up  and  gathered  her 
wraps. 

"All  right,  Miss  Holdon,  I'll  carry  the  war  into  the 
enemy's  country.  At  what  time?"  he  asked,  as  she  pre 
pared  to  depart. 

"At  eight  o'clock,  and  I  must  thank  you  in  ad 
vance." 

"No,  save  your  thanks  until  after  the  battle." 

"I  wonder  what  she  wants  me  to  talk  on,"  John  mur 
mured.  "It's  a  good  thing  for  us  that  there  are  only 
a  few  such  women  in  the  world,  mother.  If  all  of  them 
were  like  her,  their  charity  and  love  would  disarm  the 
fighters  and  reduce  the  mass  of  our  women  and  children 
to  beggary  unless  we  could " 

"Why,  John,  how. can  you  say  such  a  thing?"  the 
wife  protested  stoutly.  "I  am  sure  Miss  Holdon  is  an 
angel.  I  wish  all  rich  women  were  like  her." 

"There,  there,  mother,  your  answer  is  my  justifica 
tion." 

"Your  justification!"  the  wife  repeated  indignantly. 
"John  Bulman,  you  never  talk  anything  but  riddles  to 
me." 

"And  you  have  never  guessed  one  of  them  in  your 
whole  life,  have  you,  mother?"  He  took  her  by  the 
shoulder,  and  shook  her  gently,  lovingly,  and  stooped 
to  kiss  her. 

"There,  you  goose,  it's  bed-time,"  she  replied.  John 
let  her  go,  and  as  he  did  so  a  little  cloud  crossed  his 
smiling  face. 


282  MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

"Where  in  the  world  have  you  been,  child?"  Aunt 
Nell  demanded,  with  a  great  show  of  interest,  on 
Beatrice's  return  from  Bulman's. 

"Auntie,  I  went  out  to  capture  a  lion,  as  you  call 
them,  for  our  next  Ethical  Study  Club  'meeting,  and 
I'm  going  to  give  them  a  really  and  truly  surprise. 

"Who  is  the  lion?"  The  aunt  eyed  the  radiant  girl 
narrowly.  "Who's  your  lion?"  she  asked  again. 

"Mr.  Bulman,  a  Socialist,  and  a  gentleman,  but  a 
man  awfully  radical  in  his  views." 

"Oh,  radical,  is  he,  and  a  Socialist?  Now,  my  dear, 
if  you  would  only  listen."  Two  pretty  hands  went  up, 
and  Beatrice  put  her  ringers  in  her  ears. 

"I  won't  listen,  Auntie,  not  to  one  who  says  I  can't 
have  my  lion,  and  give  our  club  a  real  surprise." 

"My  dear,  you  may  not  listen  now,  but  I  warn  you. 
I,  too,  undertook  the  fascinating  game  of  playing  with 
lions."  She  got  up,  and  stood  looking  down  at  Beatrice. 
"There  are  lions  and  lions,  my  dear.  Some  are  old, 
mangy  and  toothless,  but  still  able  to  roar.  You  can  get 
plenty  of  this  sort.  Each  one  will  bring  his  own  per 
sonal  hobby,  and  ride  it  to  exhaustion,  and  no  one  but 
the  lion  and  his  hobby  need  be  the  worse  for  the  exhi 
bition.  But,  Beatrice,  these  Socialist  lions  have  both 
teeth  and  claws,  and  if  I  know  them,  they  would  as  lief 
make  a  meal  off  the  lion  tamer  as  to  partake  of  the  meat 
she  offers." 

"Oh,  Aunt,  you  are  as  radical  as  my  lion.  I  do  be 
lieve  I  shall  have  to  arrange  to  keep  you  apart.  The  cap 
italist  tigress  and  the  Socialist  lion  might  forget  all  but 
their  teeth  and  claws.  I  shall  certainly  keep  you  apart," 
she  called  back  over  her  shoulder  as  she  went  upstairs. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

UPLIFT  FORCES  AT  WORK. 

The  task  Miss  Holdon  had  set  herself  in  the  forma 
tion  of  the  Ethical  Study  Club  was  by  no  means  an 
easy  one.  As  she  labored  to  bring  the  "uplift"  forces 
together  for  the  study  of  ways  and  means  looking 
toward  the  betterment  of  the  wretched  poor,  a  hundred 
obstacles  were  encountered.  Mr.  Wilmerding,  salaried 
by  the  "United  Charities,"  was  willing,  of  course,  to 
join  the  club,  but  he  insisted  emphatically  in  joining 
he  hoped  to  be  able  to  convince  some  of  the  more  rea 
sonable  of  the  members  that  in  the  "United  Charities" 
could  be  found  the  sum  total  of  all  the  uplift  virtues. 
He  even  went  further,  when  he  informed  Miss  Holdon 
that  a  great  many  well-meaning  people  were  not  only 
wasting  energy  and  substance  in  the  prosecution  of  their 
so-called  individual  charities,  but  were  actually  breeding 
paupers  by  reason  of  their  indiscriminate  giving.  Beat 
rice  took  his  application  with  a  heavy  heart  and  went 
to  Miss  Amos. 

Miss  Amos  presided  over  the  destinies  of  a  social  set 
tlement,  an  oasis  in  a  desert  of  poverty,  filth  and  crime. 
To  her  treasury  came  a  goodly  amount  of  conscience 
money  from  the  rich. 

Miss  Holdon's  name  had  never  appeared  on  her  sub 
scription  lists;  still,  she  listened  patiently  to  Beatrice's 
heart-emptying.  "Yes,  she  would  join  and  be  pleased 
to  give  the  use  of  the  Home  Hall  to  the  club  when  it 
had  a  special  program."  "But,  my  dear,"  she  added, 
"there  are  so  many  of  these  organizations,  and  we  never 
see  anything  of  their  undertakings  manifest  in  con 
crete  achievements."  She  surveyed  the  well-appointed 
room  in  which  they  sat.  "Don't  you  think  you  might 
accomplish  fully  as  much,  my  dear,"  she  inquired  bland 
ly,  "if  you  were  to  join  with  us,  and  concentrate  your 
efforts  here?" 

283 


284  MILLS  OF   MAMMON 

Miss  Holdon  had  Miss  Amos'  application  when  she 
left  the  settlement  house,  but  her  heart  was  heavier 
for  it. 

Mrs.  Sandstrom  was  next  on  the  list.  This  lady 
had  set  herself  the  task  of  solving  the  servant  prob 
lem,  and  she  found  the  work  fully  as  strenuous  as  she 
could  desire.  With  a  beautifully  appointed  home  and 
an  abundance  of  money,  she  had  succeeded  in  gathering 
a  membership  in  her  special  uplift  that  invariably  re 
sponded  to  her  call  when  they  were  to  be  entertained 
at  the  Sandstrom  mansion.  About  two  weeks  before 
Beatrice's  visit  she  had  executed  a  feat  which  in  its  in 
ception  had  promised  to  be  a  brilliant  success,  but  which 
in  its  denouement  proved  well  that  old  adage,  "The 
proof  of  the  pudding,"  etc.,  etc.  The  membership  had 
been  invited  and  promised  a  treat,  "The  Servant  Girl, 
from  the  Girl's  Standpoint,  by  the  Girls."  This  an 
nouncement,  beautifully  embossed  on  dainty  souvenirs, 
was  found  under  each  plate  at  luncheon.  At  the  same 
time,  some  five  strange  servant  girls  of  all  degrees  of 
intelligence,  temper  and  general  condition  were  being 
regaled  in  the  servants'  quarters.  Mrs.  Sandstrom  had 
hired  them  at  a  week's  wages  each  to  come  to  her  kome 
and  give  their  side  of  the  servant  girl  problem  in  short 
talks  before  the  club. 

Mrs.  Sandstrom's  houseservants,  we  might  mention, 
were  in  open  rebellion  against  that  lady's  method  of  up 
lift,  and  when  she  had  informed  them  at  the  "family 
council,"  three  days  before,  that  she  had  hired  five  girls 
to  talk  before  the  club  at  its  next  meeting,  a  second 
council  followed  immediateely  upon  the  adjournment  of 
the  first.  This  council  proceeded  to  hope  the  hired 
speakers  would  be  able  to  tell  the  uplifters  a  few  things. 
Consequently,  when  the  hired  talent  appeared  they  were 
greeted  with  a  warmth  that  quite  won  their  hearts.  By 
the  time  they  were  to  be  called  to  the  parlors  they  knew 
more,  touching  the  shortcomings  of  a  goodly  number  of 
the  ladies  above,  than  is  good  for  a  servant  to  know. 

"Can  I  make  a  spiel?"  Mary  Morrisey,  one  of  the 
hired  orators,  replied  to  a  question  from  Mrs.  Sand- 
Strom's  maid.  "Can  I?  Say,  haven't  I  been  fighting 
their  impudent  brats,  dodgin'  their  men  with  th'  goo-goo 
eyes,  an'  makin'  me  demands  for  better  wages  in  one 


UPLIFT  FORCES  AT  WORK  285 

place,  better  rooms  in  another,  an'  better  grub  some- 
wheres  else,  to  say  nothin'  of  me  havin'  to  hold  me  own 
with  a  tonguey,  sharp-nosed,  snoopin'  mistress.  Can  I 
make  a  spiel?" 

Mary  was  pretty,  plump  and  saucy.  Every  one  con 
cluded  that  she  could  make  a  "spiel,"  and  at  the  close^of 
her  speech  they  elected  her  unanimously  to  the  position 
of  leading  speaker.  She  accepted,  laughing  until  the 
tears  rolled  down  her  rosy  cheeks,  and  proceeded  to  ar 
range  the  program  so  that  she  might  close  the  debate. 

When  the  ladies  and  their  servants  (each  had  brought 
at  least  one  candidate  for  uplift)  were  seated,  Mrs.  Sand- 
strom  opened  the  exercises  with  a  few  minutes  of  gentle 
patronizing  gabble,  then  took  up  the  slip  of  paper  Mary 
had  handed  her,  and  the  fun  began.  At  the  close  of 
the  session  the  following  comment  might  have  been 
heard,  as  the  ladies  prepared  to  depart : 

"Shocking!" 

"Perfectly  horrid!" 

"Impudent  things !" 

"The  idea  of  that  red-faced  thing  insinuating  that 
our  husbands  and  children  needed  the  first  dose  of  up 
lift!" 

"I  really  pitied  Mrs.  Sandstrom  when  that  long-nosed 
one  said,  'After  she'd  been  in  a  certain  place  three  days 
she  got  so  nervous  she  couldn't  sleep,  from  thinking  her 
snooping  mistress  was  peeking  at  her  from  the  closet." 

"And  that  chubby  one  who  told  about  the  man  catch 
ing  her  and  pulling  her  behind  the  door  and  kissing  her. 
Did  you  see  Nora  Jackman  color  up?  They  say  she 
caught  her  maid  and  Jackman  doing  that." 

"Well,  this  is  my  last  uplift  meeting,"  another  de 
clared.  "My  maid  gets  her  walking  papers  just  as  soon 
as  I  can  find  another.  I  know  she  told  that  big-mouthed, 
warty  thing,  with  the  loud  voice,  about  my  children — I 
know  it!" 

"And  the  last  one!"  another  exclaimed,  throwing  up 
her  hands.  "The  last  one  who  summed  up  the  evidence, 
as  you  might  say." 

"Yes;  wasn't  she  a  bold  hussy?"  a  little  woman  in 
velvet  interrupted.  "Why,  her  language  was  something- 
frightful,  and  the  impudent  way  in  which  she  pointed 
out  our  defects  and  defended  the  servants." 


286  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"About  four  such  meetings  as  that,"  a  thoughtful- 
looking  woman  observed,  "and  we  wouldn't  have  any 
more  servants.  I'll  keep  mine  in  their  places  after  this; 
the  rest  of  you  can  uplift  and  solve  all  you  want  to." 

"Mrs.  Sandstrom  asked  me  to  offer  her  excuses ;  she 
has  an  attack  of  sick  headache."  Mrs.  Sandstrom's  smil 
ing  maid  stood  in  the  doorway.  Her  message  was  re 
ceived  in  silence,  but  as  soon  as  she  disappeared  the  si 
lence  was  broken  to  a  purpose. 

When  Miss  Holdon  called  at  the  Sandstrom  home 
she  was  met  at  the  door  by  the  mistress  of  the  house. 
"Yes,  she  would  join  the  club;  she  still  believed  in  her 
mission  and  would  be  glad  to  present  her  plan  to  the 
club.  Mrs.  Sandstrom  recounted  her  side  of  the  servant- 
girl  problem  for  Miss  Holdon's  benefit,  and  again  the 
club  organizer  felt  depressed,  as  she  took  up  her  cross. 

Miss  Natalie  Marble's  name  was  next  on  the  list. 
Miss  Natalie  had  been  a  progressivist  ever  since  her 
thirteenth  year — that  is,  she  had  informed  the  world 
that  she  loved  liberty  and  despised  love.  Liberty,  she 
asserted,  depended  solely  upon  the  attainment  of  one 
grand  object;  that  secured,  woman  would  immediately 
assume  her  rightful  position  in  the  world  of  affairs. 
Prostitution,  child  murder,  unholy  marriage,  sweat  shop 
labor,  irreligion,  everything  of  evil  in  the  life  of  woman 
would  be  wiped  away  as  soon  as  woman  had  the  bal 
lot,  the  sacred  ballot!  Miss  Natalie  was  profuse  in 
her  greeting;  was  not  Miss  Holdon  an  heir  to  millions? 
Now,  if  she  could  only  be  won  over  to  the  great  cause. 
Certainly,  she  would  join  the  club,  and  hoped  to  be  put 
on  an  early  program  for  her  lecture  on  "Woman,  the 
Eternal  Woman,"  a  lecture  prepared  in  the  shadow  of 
the  sphinx. 

"Of  such,  with  a  sprinkling  of  new  thought,  single 
tax,  science  and  slum  grubbers,  Beatrice  organized  her 
club  for  the  study  of  the  world's  ethics. 

Into  this  assemblage  of  warring  good  folk,  intent 
upon  cleaning  a  little  patch  of  earth  of  its  weeds  and 
smells,  and  righteously  jealous  of  every  other  sort  of 
muckraker  in  sight,  our  friend  John  Bulman  is  to  be 
precipitated.  How  many  of  Aunt  Nell's  mangy,  tooth 
less,  clawless,  tame  lions  will  he  meet? 


CHAPTER  XLL 

THE  ETHICAL  STUDY  CLUB. 

It  was  a  well-dressed,  prosperous  appearing  assem 
bly  into  which  John  Bulman  was  projected  the  night 
he  visited  for  the  first  time  at  the  home  of  the  Hon. 
Horace  Holdon. 

The  program  was  under  way  when  John  was  an 
nounced.  Beatrice  hurried  to  meet  him  and  the  look  and 
words  of  welcome  she  gave  removed  the  last  doubt  he 
held,  and  he  entered  the  great  dining  room  determined 
to  break  a  lance  in  the  tourney. 

A  Mrs.  Wilber,  whose  specialty  was  fallen  women, 
had  the  floor,  and  the  ear  of  at  least  a  fourth  of  her 
audience.  In  a  nicely  modulated  voice,  she  was  telling 
them  that  "the  problem  of  moral  regeneration  is  in  the 
hands  of  our  virtuous  womanhood — we  must  shame  our 
erring  sisters  by  the  exalted  attainments  of  our  virtue. 
It  were  better  to  incur  the  anger  and  suffer  the  abuse 
some  of  our  fallen  sisters  heap  upon  us  than  to  let  them 
go  unrebuked  into  lower  depths  of  vice  and  crime.  The 
one  great  woman's  work  of  the  world  to-day  is  cen 
tered  in  this  effort  of  a  few  heroic  souls  to  regenerate 
and  finally  save  fallen  women — all  else  is  of  little  worth 
beside  this  task. 

"Every  woman  who  can  spare  the  time  should  join 
with  us  in  the  'Rescue  Work/  visiting  those  awful 
haunts  of  iniquity,  praying  with  the  calloused  inmates, 
and  by  our  very  presence  shame  the  men  into  abandon 
ing  such  resorts."  Mrs.  Wilber  sat  down  to  the  soft, 
non-kid-splitting  applause  of  the  few. 

Mrs.  Sandstrom  as  chairman  consulted  her  tablets 
and  called  upon  Miss  Tibbs.  Miss  Tibbs,  young,  viva 
cious,  beautifully  gowned,  and  pre-eminently  conscious 
that  she  was  about  to  prove  her  worth  as  an  uplifter, 
blushingly  made  her  bow  to  the  audience. 

"Fellow  students,"  she  began,  "I  am  going  to  talk  to 
287 


288  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

you  mainly  upon  a  subject  far  removed  from  the  one  I 
had  in  mind  when  I  accepted  an  invitation  to  address 
this  meeting.  I  am  led  to  do  this  because  it  seems  to 
me  Mrs.  Wilber  has  put  entirely  too  much  emphasis 
upon  the  importance  of  her  work.  I  cannot  agree  with 
the  statement  that  the  greatest  work  before  us  is  cen 
tered  in  uplifting  fallen  women.  My  conviction  comes 
from  experience.  In  working  among  the  children  of  the 
needy  poor  I  have  met  many  women  of  the  class  men 
tioned,  and  I  am  satisfied  that  they,  at  least,  were  lost 
beyond  redemption.  To  illustrate,  I  will  recount  a  sin 
gle  incident.  One  morning  last  summer  I  induced  a 
gentleman  friend  to  accompany  me  on  a  visit  to  some 
families  in  whose  children  I  had  taken  great  interest. 
They  lived  in  a  tenement  building  and  Charles" — she 
blushed  and  looked  down — "the  gentleman  I  mentioned, 
stood  in  the  hall  while  I  talked  to  a  mother  about  the 
proper  care  of  her  children,  when  one  of  those  wretched 
painted  women  in  a  kimono  came  through  the  hall — I 
had  just  stepped  to  the  door  when  I  saw  her  throw  her 
arms  around  the  gentleman's  neck,  and  heard  her  say, 
"Charley,  old  sport,  it's  good  to  see  you  again.  Looking 
for  rooms?" 

The  speaker  blushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  as  men 
coughed  and  women  smiled.  But  she  was  both  inno 
cent  and  brave,  and  went  on  with  her  story.  "My  es 
cort  actually  looked  scared,  and  as  for  me,  I  almost 
fainted  at  the  very  boldness  of  the  woman.  As  soon  as 
she  saw  me,  she  turned  and  ran  down  the  hall  laughing 
horridly.  When  we  came  away,  he  explained  to  me  tnat 
all  such  women  were  alike  and  that  the  one  we  had  met 
just  made  a  guess  as  to  his  name.  He  was  actually  as 
nonplussed  as  myself.  Now,  do  you  wonder  that  I 
have  come  to  believe  women  of  that  class  beyond  the 
power  of  either  prayer  or  shame?" 

She  paused  and  let  her  big  eyes  travel  slowly  over 
the  audience.  The  audience  sat  silent,  offering  a  trib 
ute  to  her  innocence. 

"We,  who  meet  together  as  students  of  'ethics'  are 
agreed,  I  believe,  that  ethics  and  righteousness  are  inter 
changeable  terms.  Then,  if  'ethical  culture'  is  to  be  de 
sired,  it  seems  to  me  we  should  extend  our  efforts  where 
the  best  basis  upon  which  to  build  an  ethical  or  right- 


THE  ETHICAL   STUDY   CLUB  289 

eous  life  is  to  be  found.  I  take  it,  no  one  will  dispute 
the  statement  that  the  child  trained  to  some  useful  occu 
pation,  and  at  the  same  time  given  a  right  understanding 
of  moral  responsibilities,  is  the  only  basis  from  which  to 
work,  and  upon  which  to  build  for  right  relations  in 
mature  life."  With  radiant  face  and  hands  clasped  be 
fore  her,  Miss  Tibbs  hesitated  a  moment  and  for  a 
second  time  took  stock  of  her  audience.  "I  wish,  oh, 
how  I  wish,"  she  exclaimed,  "that  you,  each  and  all, 
could  go  with  me  into  the  homes  of  thousands  upon 
thousands  of  our  children  and  learn  of  the  great  need 
there  is  that  they  be  rescued  from  the  sordid  struggle 
for  bread.  Little  tots,  who  should  not  yet  know  the 
alphabet,  have  been  forced  to  labor  for  bread.  Babies, 
who  should  be  lisping  that  sweetest  of  all  baby  prayers, 
'Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep/  have  become  experts  in 
profanity,  and  adepts  in  petty  crime.  Boys  and  girls, 
not  ten  years  old,  boast  of  depravity,  look  upon  virtue 
as  a  lie,  and  laugh  at  the  story  of  the  cross.  An  army 
of  children,  bred  without  the  pale  of  civilization,  and 
yet  bread-winners  in  a  Christian  city."  Lifting  appeal 
ing  hands,  with  eyes  suffused  with  tears,  the  girl  cried 
out.  "I  want  to  do  something  to  banish  this  curse  from 
the  lives  of  these  little  ones.  Who  will  help  me?  Who 
will  help  them?  I  know  that  the  majority  of  the  fallen 
women  and  the  majority  of  the  unclean  men,  a  majority 
of  the  paupers,  a  majority  of  the  criminals,  with  whom 
society  will  have  to  deal  fifteen  years  hence,  are  in  the 
making  to-day,  in  the  homes  of  our  wretched,  over 
worked,  ignorant,  godless  poor.  This  is  the  work  that 
is  worth  while.  Will  you  help  me.  Will  you  teach 
me?" 

There  may  have  been  a  kid  split  in  the  applause  as 
Miss  Tibbs  sat  down.  At  least,  the  men  were  most  lib 
eral  in  their  efforts  to  show  appreciation. 

Mr.  Matthews,  a  divinity  student,  connected  with 
the  social  settlement,  and  an  ardent  admirer  of  Miss 
Amos,  was  called,  and  for  ten  minutes  argued  that  the 
only  thing  necessary  to  the  salvation  of  any  commun 
ity  was  the  sum  of  one  hundred  thousand  dollars,  in 
vested  in  brick,  mortar,  wood,  steel,  books,  beds,  pic 
tures,  kitchen  utensils,  wooden  horses,  swings,  horizon 
tal  bars,  tools,  work  benches,  the  love  of  Christ,  a  chas- 


2QO  MILLS    OF    MAMilOX 

tened  spirit,  a  forgiving  heart,  and  enough  "willing 
workers"  to  gather  in  the  mothers  and  prospective 
mothers,  and  start  them  right.  Capture  the  children 
and  teach  them  self-reliance  and  the  needful  art  of 
being  able  to  produce  five  dollars'  worth  of  wealth  for 
a  dollar  in  wages.  This  accomplished  with  the  decent 
women  and  children,  he  opined  that  the  job  of  regener 
ating  the  fallen  manhood  and  ditto  womanhood  of  a 
community  would  be  an  easy  matter,  and  in  conclusion 
said  he :  "The  social  conscience  of  the  community,  once 
fully  awakened,  all  undesirable  characters  will  be  ex 
pelled,"  and  he  sat  down. 

The  next  number  on  the  program  was  decidedly 
sensational.  Miss  Holdon  had  discovered  a  disciple  of 
individualism  in  the  body  of  a  newly  arrived  Count,  and 
had  through  a  friend  secured  his  attendance,  also  a 
promise  that  he  would  talk  on  the  "Ethics  of  Individual 
ism."  The  Count  was  introduced  to  a  vacuum  produced 
by  the  indrawing  of  breath,  induced  in  all  the  ladies  by 
the  announcement  that  a  real  Count  was  to  appear  be 
fore  them  in  the  flesh. 

Count  Rousselin  smiled  indulgently  upon  his  vas 
sals,  stammered,  coughed,  cleared  his  throat,  blew  his 
nose  vehemently,  and  plunged  into  a  discussion  of  "The 
Individual  Versus  Society."  A  few  of  the  gems  that 
dropped  from  his  pale  lips  are  here  appended: 

"Zis  ting  we  call  government,  is  it  not  an  abomina 
tion?  Ze  lady,  God  bless  her,  has  want  for  some  fine 
silk  gown.  Ze  continent  alone,  it  produce  ze  silk,  fit; 
ze  modiste  fit;  ze  gown  to  fit  (rapturous  applause),  an* 
ze  government,  ze,  oh  ze  abominable  government,  it 
charge  tariffs,  an'  ze  lady,  she  must  pay.  Me,  I  believe 
ze  world — ze  whole  world,  it  should  be  free  to  woman, 
beautiful  woman  (more  rapturous  applause).  For  men, 
I  believe  in  liberty — all  government  is  slavery.  To  have 
government,  some  one  must  rule ;  if  ze  few  rule,  ze 
many  must  obey.  Zose  who  must  obey  are  slaves ;  is  it 
not  so?  To  ze  extent  zat  zey  obey,  are  zey  not  slaves? 
'Count  Rousselin/  zey  say  to  me  on  ze  continent,  'how 
can  you,  who  own  thousands  of  acres  of  lands,  an'  have 
hundreds  of  servants  an'  peasants  who  obey  your  light 
est  wish,  how  can  you  speak  so  like  you  do?'  It  is  not 
what  you  Americans  call  an  insincerity.  An'  I  answer, 


THE  ETHICAL   STUDY   CLUB  2QI 

'I  live  to-day  as  other  men  force  me  to  live,  but,  to 
morrow   will   come.     To-day,   while  my   servant  waits 
upon  me — to-day,  I  teach  my  servant  ze  lesson  of  true 
liberty;   individual   liberty.;   an'   to-morrow   my   servant 
will  have  grasp  ze  great  truth  an'  liberty  will  be  born.' 
'But  you  must  be  an  anarchist,  Count/  zey  say  to  me 
again;  an'  I  answer,  'I  am — I  am,  and  only  a  very  rich 
man  can  afford  to  teach  an'  to  practice  zat  anarchy.'     I 
laugh  at  zem,  an'  I  laugh  at  your  large-around  and  little- 
headed  statesmen;     an'  I  clasp     hands  wis     your  big- 
headed,     lean     an'  hungry     business     men;     zey     who 
take     an'     hold;      an'      to-morrow      take      an'      hold 
more     of     ze     good     zings,     and      laugh,      an'     buy, 
an'  take,  an'  hold  all  zat  zey  want;  an'  still  to-morrow 
zey  want  more  an'  take  an'  hold  zat,  too.     I  clasp  hand 
wis  zese  big-headed,  lean,  an'  hungry  men;  but  I  spit 
upon  your  men  in  politics,  your  government,  where  in 
service  ze  men  grow  big  below  ze — what  you  call  it? 
Belt?    Oh,  yes,  ze  belt,  an'  infinitesimal  in  ze  head;  an' 
zat  is  government.     An'  always,  it  has  been  so.     New 
governments  are  built  by  big-headed,  lean,  an'  hungry, 
fighting  men.    Old  governments  go  always  into  ze  hands 
of  fat,  fatter,  an'  fattest  bodies,  wis  little,  small,  small- 
es'  heads.     Zen,  ze  revolution  comes ;  an'  finally,  out  of 
all  ze  revolutions,  individual  liberty — it  is  to  be  born. 
'Would  you  kill  a  man?'    my  friends  have  asked  of  me, 
an'  I  say  to  zem,  'Would  you  put  pork  in  ze  barrel  or 
fish  in  ze  tubs  ?"     An'  zey  look  foolish  an'  I  say :    '  'Tis 
ze  same  to-day ;  you  kill  meat  an'  catch  fish  zat  you  may 
live.      To-morrow,   ze   world   will   demand    liberty — an' 
liberty,  it  is  more  zan  life;  so,  too,  will  ze  world  kill 
meat  an'  put  fish  in  tubs.'     Is  it  not  so?    'But,  you  are 
dangerous !'    zey  exclaim,  making  large  zeir  eyes  at  me, 
an'  I  answer:    'No,  not  so  dangerous  as  a  railway  train 
is  to  zose  who  use  it ;  not  nearly  so  dangerous  as  ze 
machine,  ze — ze — what  you  call  hands,  tends.'    'But,  you 
would  destroy  society !'     and  zey  try  to  look  pained  an' 
displease,  so  I  reassure  zem.     'I  do  not  seek  to  destroy 
society ;  I  but  point  out  zat  all  government  is  slavery ; 
all  law  is  so  much  of  fetters,  an'  so  unnecessary  to  ze 
individual  capable  of  understanding  liberty.     Would  I 
destroy?     No!     Ze  ignorant  will  destroy,  an'  ze  wise, 
zey  will  watch  ze  destruction  an'  smile  while  ze  ignorant 


MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

build  again.'  My  servant  may  kill;  my  words  may  in 
cite  his  anger;  an'  his  ignorance  of  ze  great  law  of 
change  may  cause  him  to  anticipate  ze  law ;  but  I — I  am 
above  ze  law,  an  Individulist — for  I  need  not  to  labor — 
I  am  free.  Ze  man,  ze  woman,  all  should  be  free.  Zen 
will  ze  gods  come  down  to  earth  again ;  zen,  when  laws 
are  forgot,  an'  freedom  is  ours,  zen  will  great  men  be 
born,  an'  ze  world  ethic,  pure  anarchy,  ze  essence  of 
individual  liberty,  it  will  compass  ze  globe.  Zen  will  ze 
folly  of  government  be  demonstrate  an'  ze  count,  your 
servant,  be  remember  as  is  one  John  ze  great  Baptes." 
The  Count  took  his  seat  in  a  silence  that  was  audi 
ble,  and  the  chairman,  looking  frightened,  made  frantic 
signs  of  distress  to  Beatrice,  who  failed,  however,  to 
understand  the  signals. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

BULMAN   TALKS   ETHICS. 

As  recorded  in  the  last  chapter,  Count  Rousselin  had 
but  finished  his  dissertation  on  ''Individual  Liberty," 
when  the  chairman  hoisted  signals  of  distress,  which 
Beatrice  failed  to  comprehend. 

The  distress  had  its  origin  in  the  whispered  question 
of  a  member,  who  had  read  John  Bulman's  name  on  the 
program  and  had  advised  that  that  number  be  omitted. 
As  Buknan  was  to  follow  the  Count,  and  was  seen  mak 
ing  his  way  toward  the  platform,  she  had  no  choice,  so 
long  as  she  could  not  get  the  ear  of  Miss  Holdon,  but  to 
announce  the  speaker. 

"Mr.  John  Bulman  will  now  address  you  on  'A 
Socialist's  View  of  Ethics/  "  she  announced  in  a  low 
voice;  then  turned  to  the  member  who  had  suggested 
omitting  the  number  and  asked  in  a  whisper,  "Who  is 
he?" 

"One  of  those  anarchists,  Count  Rousselin  told  uf> 
would  some  day  blow  us  all  up." 

"Gracious,  is  that  so?"  the  chairman  gasped,  then 
turned  to  survey  the  man  who,  at  that  moment,  bowed 
to  her  and  faced  his  audience. 

"Friends,  I  have  but  a  limited  time  in  which  to  deal 
with  a  great  subject ;  therefore,  I  hope  that  you  will  par 
don  me  if  I  do  not  use  a  great  number  of  words  in 
thanking  the  Ethical  Study  Club  for  the  courtesy  ex 
tended  a  representative  of  the  revolutionary  movement 
of  the  world.  But,  I  do  thank  you  for  this  opportunity." 
The  speaker  paused  a  moment  then  plunged  into  his  sub 
ject.  "All  about  us,  we  have  Ethics  talked  of,  and  talked 
of,  yet  how  many  of  us  would  know  an  ethic  if  we  met 
it  at  noon-day?  What  are  ethics?  What  is  ethical?  If 
I  can  give  you  a  short  definition  of  ethics  as  I  view 
the  things  you  call  ethical,  we  shall  be  the  better  able 

293 


294         ,  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

to  understand  the  basis  upon  which  the  conclusions  I 
shall  reach  are  founded." 

"One  speaker  has  said,  in  effect,  that  'ethics  and 
righteousness  are  identical  terms,'  and  the  great  majority 
of  us  do  look  upon  anything  named  ethical  as  being 
righteous.  Yet,  the  Mormons  taught  that  polygamy  was 
ethical ;  so  too  do  many  religions  espoused  by  millions 
and  millions  of  people.  Our  Protestant  and  Catholic 
churches  teach  that  it  is  unethical  for  the  men  and 
women  of  the  common  life  to  have  more  than  one  hus 
band  or  wife,  and  any  stepping  aside  from  this  ethical 
relationship  is  branded  as  criminal  and  is  punishable  by 
law.  This  looks  good,  is  good;  but,  this  'ethic'  is  not 
all-conclusive.  This  being  true  of  any  ethic  we  may 
examine,  the  Socialist  makes  contention  that  the  ethics 
of  to-day  are  upon  the  same  level  as  were  the  ethics  of 
the  tribe,  the  first  governmental  unit  in  the  development 
of  society  above  the  dignity  of  the  family. 

"To  revert  to  the  sex  ethic,  which  we  have  heard  ex 
pounded  at  some  length  to-night.  Is  it  not  true  that 
your  churches  grant  to  kings,  princes,  dukes,  counts,  and 
capitalists,  immunity  from  the  sex  law?  Who  among 
you  but  knows  that  with  but  few  exceptions  the  royal 
families  of  the  world  are  rotten  morally,  yet  they  are 
all  anointed  of  God?  Dare  you  deny  that  the  possession 
of  wealth  exalts  the  holder  above  this  'ethical  law?' 
Should  you  deny  it,  I  would  cite  you  so  many  cases 
wherein  your  ethical  reforrners,  Christian  purists,  God- 
serving  officials  and  patriotic  politicians,  have  taken  the 
bribe  offered  in  dollars  and  cents  by  the  licentious  and 
greedy  pillars  of  society  that  you  would  hang  your 
heads  for  shame.  The  very  fact  that  prostitution  exists 
in  a  Christian  nation  proves  weakness  on  the  part  of 
the  Christian  majority,  when  it  comes  to  dealing  with 
an  offense  against  the  very  root  of  all  ethical  relation 
ships,  the  sanctity  of  the  home.  This  abominable  insti 
tution  pays  tribute  direct  to  the  city  treasury  in  one 
place,  through  a  system  of  fines  in  another,  and  by  way 
of  bribes  and  blackmail  in  a  third;  and  these  are  all 
Christian  cities.  Prostitution  could  not  exist  for  a  sin 
gle  year  in  any  land  wherein  one  moral  law  was  made 
to  apply  to  all  people.  A  land  where  an  'ethic'  could  not 
be  twisted  to  suit  the  needs  of  an  immoral,  profit-taking 


BULMAN   TALKS   ETHICS  295 

class,  and  an  equally  immoral,  semi-criminal  class  of 
procurers,  who  for  profit  subsidize  both  church  and  state 
and  ply  their  hellish  traffic  among  the  daughters  of  the 
working  world. 

"That  is  a  strong  statement.  Your  faces  tell  me  it 
is  too  strong  for  you,  and  I  do  not  wonder.  You,  who 
twiddle  your  thumbs  and  hatch  resolutions  for  the  up 
lifting  of  the  sodden  mass  of  disease  and  filth-cursed 
poor,  are  not  used  to  anything  stronger  than  an  ethical 
tea,  and  that  must  be  diluted  and  well  sweetened  and 
taken  in  sips.  The  meat  of  a  revolutionary  program, 
looking  to  the  establishment  of  an  economic  base  upon 
which  a  world-ethic  may  be  builded — why,  the  very  idea 
is  repugnant !  Please  pass  the  sugar,  Mr.  Bulman." 

Significant  glances  passed  between  the  uplifters,  and 
•the  speaker,  apprehending  them,  said:  "To  invite  a 
Socialist  to  talk  on  ethics  is  to  ask  him  to  direct  his 
darts  at  the  weakest  spot  in  your  nice,  white-enameled 
armor.  What  is  an  ethic?  What  are  ethics?  You  say 
an  ethic  is  the  last  word  of  righteousness  expressed  in 
government.  And  I  tell  you  flatly,  an  ethic  is  neither 
more  nor  less  than  an  agreement  between  two  or  more 
persons  as  to  the  manner  in  which  they  shall  treat  each 
other  in  all  matters  covered  by  said  agreement.  This 
agreement,  either  accepted  voluntarily  or  by  compulsion, 
becomes  a  law,  and  all  law  is  ethical  to  those  who  profit 
through  its  enactment  and  is  likewise  unethical  to  all 
who  are  despoiled  by  its  enforcement.  That  this  is  the 
case,  I  shall  prove  even  to  your  satisfaction. 

"To-night,  we  have  listened  to  a  free  man,  one  above 
the  need  of  labor,  who,  with  lands  and  hundreds  of 
workers  at  his  beck  and  call,  may  talk  anarchy,  the 
dreamy  ideal  of  an  individual  liberty  in  operation  out 
side  the  pales  of  an  organized  state ;  and  his  talk  of 
revolutions,  the  killing  of  men  as  one  kills  animals  for 
meat,  or  puts  fish  in  tubs,  will  be  listened  to  by  the 
parlor  gatherings  of  the  world,  and  next  day  his  hear 
ers  will  vie  with  each  other  to  wine  and  dine  him.  But, 
should  any  one  of  you  hear  a  ragged  devil  on  a  street 
corner  talking  the  same  stuff  about  Individual  Liberty/ 
you  would  hand  him  over  to  the  police  as  a  dangerous 
citizen — an  undesirable  citizen — and  defend  your  act  as 
ethical. 


296  MILLS   OF    MAMMON" 

"I  do  not  care  to  discuss  individual  liberty  in 
the  sense  anarchists  use  that  term;  I  only  insist  that  the 
world  of  mankind  passed  from  the  age  of  individual  lib 
erty  when  man  took  upon  himself  the  responsibilities 
of  family  life,  and  later,  organizing  into  tri'bes,  estab 
lished  laws  and  dubbed  them  ethical.  From  that  time  to 
this,  as  society  has  become  more  centralized,  more  com 
plex,  the  individual  has  been  forced  to  surrender,  one 
after  another,  the  liberties  he  enjoyed  as  a  savage  living 
without  government;  but  for  every  'liberty'  surrendered, 
society  has  heaped  upon  the  individual  and  his  children  a 
store  of  blessings,  and  the  work  of  the  social  order  in 
the  reclamation  of  the  individual  is  not  finished;  it  is 
but  begun. 

"To  talk  of  destroying  government  while  man  as  yet 
has  scarcely  mastered  the  A  B  C  of  the  alphabet  of 
possible  progress  may  be  all  well  enough  'before  a  mob 
of  ignorant  and  oppressed  workers,  or  at  an  ethical  func 
tion  such  as  this,  but  among  thinking  men  and  women, 
such  an  argument  can  have  but  little  weight  in  face  of 
our  knowledge  of  the  needsj  the  duties,  the  powers  of 
the  social  state  for  good,  for  progress. 

"When  the  forebears  of  our  present-day  individual 
ists  forsook  their  lonely  lairs  in  the  forests  of  the  young- 
old  world  and  banded  themselves  together  for  mutual 
protection,  I  strongly  suspect  that  they  did  not  at  once 
organize  an  'Ethical  Study  Club.'  Yet,  in  their  organi 
zation  ethics  had  birth,  and  'have  been  handed  down  to 
us  in  the  same  form.  Through  all  the  religious  experi 
ences  the  world  has  had,  strange  though  it  may  seem, 
the  'Ethic'  has  never  changed.  Instituted  in  that  far 
distant  time  for  the  protection  of  property  rights  in 
life,  service,  and  material  wealth,  running  to  the  tribe 
first,  then  to  the  individual,  we  find  that  through  all  the 
vicissitudes  of  time  the  'Ethic'  has  held  its  own.  Let's 
examine  it  as  it  first  appeared.  In  the  trrbe,  it  was 
'Ethical'  to  protect  the  common  property  of  the  tribe  ; 
'Ethical'  to  protect  the  life  of  a  tribesman;  'Ethical'  to 
surrender  one's  life  for  the  life  of  the  tribe ;  'Ethical'  to 
protect  the  private  property  of  the  tribesmen;  'Ethical' 
to  protect  the  marriage  relation;  'Ethical'  to  protect 
whatever  form  of  sex-companionship  had  been  found 
best  adapted  to  the  needs  of  the  tribe,  be  it  monogamy, 


BULMAN   TALKS   ETHICS  2Q7 

polyandry,  or  polygamy.  All  this  was  'Ethical'  at  the 
birth  of  government,  at  the  beginning  of  individual  sur 
render.  And,  I  can  not  see  how  you  could  quarrel  with 
so  splendid  a  system  of  ethical  laws.  Why  protect  the 
common  property  of  the  tribe?  Why  inculcate  the  wis 
dom  of  patriotism?  Because  they  protect  the  common 
life  and  make  ample  provision  for  virtuous  family  rela 
tionship;  they  protect  private  property  in  the  hands  of 
the  individual.  Now,  what  more  could  one  demand,  even 
at  this  day,  in  the  name  of  'Ethics?' 

"But  let  us  investigate  this  seemingly  ethical, 
righteous  relationship.  Within  the  tribe,  this  works  for 
the  strengthening  of  the  bond  that  unites  the  individual 
members,  for  the  'Ethics'  of  those  days  might  not  be 
denied  without  loss  of  property,  banishment,  or  even 
death,  as  the  penalty  imposed  upon  the  'unethical'  tribes 
man.  It  does  look  good.  But,  suppose  we  go  with  the 
warriors  of  this  tribe  to-night  on  march  round  the  base 
of  yonder  mountain.  Beyond  the  mountains,  our  chief 
tain  tells  us  there  dwells  a  people  rich  in  tanned  skins, 
bows  and  arrows,  horses  and  cattle,  and  other  of  this 
world's  goods,  all  of  which,  besides  the  comely  damsels 
of  the  trib'e,  may  be  ours  for  the  taking.  Let  us  go 
on  march  to-night.  To-morrow  morning,  we  shall  fall 
upon  this  people ;  a  people  whose  only  offense  against  us 
is  that  they  have  something  we  want.  We  shall  butcher 
the  men  of  the  tribe,  confiscate  all  the  property  we  can 
move,  and  take  the  women  of  the  tribe  captive.  Now 
let  us  return  to  our  side  of  the  mountain  loaded  with 
spoils,  to  meet  the  women  and  children,  the  old  men 
and  the  halt.  What  sort  of  reception  will  we  receive? 
Will  our  wives  storm  at  us:  'Away  with  these  strange 
women ;  return  them  to  their  families ;  this  conduct  is 
'unethical  ?' 

"Will  the  old  men  who  helped  shape  the  laws  that 
protect  tribal  and  private  property  cry  out:  'You  have 
disgraced  us !  disgraced  us !  Return  at  once  to  the  peo 
ple  you  have  robbed  all  the  loot,  all  the  women!  You 
are  unethical/ 

"Will  the  tribe's  'ethical  study  club'  resolve  regard 
ing  immorality,  because  we  broke  up  a  hundred  homes 
and  consigned  the  wives  and  maidens  of  the  tribe  we 
destroyed  to  an  immoral  life?  Will  any  one  of  these 


298  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

things  happen?  How  will  you  know  that  none  of  them 
may  happen.  The  uplifters,  the  old  men,  the  women  of 
our  tribe,  all  will  acclaim  us  heroes ;  receive  us  with  open 
arms  and  kindle  fires  to  the  Great  Spirit  in  thanksgiving 
for  a  victory — and  this,  too,  is  'ethical/ 

"So,  in  the  final  analysis,  it  is  just  as  'ethical'  to 
murder  men  your  government  wants  killed  as  it  is  t<s 
save  the  lives  of  those  the  government  needs  to  protect 
it  against  an  equally  ethical  foe. 

"It  is  'ethical'  to  protect  the  private  property  of  the 
individual  members  of  your  organization,  be  it  a  busi 
ness  association,  state,  or  nation ;  and  equally  as  'ethical' 
•to  confiscate  the  private  property  of  any  man  who  is  not 
of  your  'tribe/ 

"It  is  'ethical'  to  resolve  on  virtue  at  home,  talk 
sanctity  of  the  family,  and  enact  laws  for  the  guidance 
of  your  own  household;  and  it  is  equally  'ethical'  to 
destroy  this  relationship  wherever  you  find  opportunity 
outside  the  little  'ethical'  circle  you  have  drawn  about 
yourself. 

"I  contend  that  your  'ethics'  to-day  are  but  the  ethics 
of  the  jungle,  the  law  of  tooth  and  claw,  half  hidden 
under  the  thin,  white  enamel  of  a  spineless  Christianity. 
The  only  'ethic'  you  know,  the  only  one  the  world  has 
known  since  the  days  when  Christ  attempted  the  found 
ing  of  a  'world-ethic,'  has  been  made  to  fit  'property 
rights'  in  labor,  and  the  products  of  labor.  As  a  So 
cialist,  I  contend  that  the  human  family  will  not  be  lift 
ed  out  of  the  degradation  of  ignorant  sinning  against 
the  fixed  laws  of  life  until  society  shall  give  to  the 
weakest  individual  among  us  the  protection  of  its  strong 
arm — shall  institute  a  world  democracy  and  take  up  the 
task  of  deodorizing  present  day  'ethics/ 

"Some  of  you  seem  dissatisfied" — the  speaker  paus 
ed — "but,  if  I  give  you  concrete  examples  of  the  opera 
tion  of  'ethics'  in  business,  in  religion,  in  politics,  and 
in  labor  circles,  and  prove  to  you  that  present  day  'ethics' 
are  dictated  and  dominated  by  property  interests,  and 
not  by  that  altruism  which  alone  is  capable  of  lifting 
man  above  the  sordid  grind  of  the  material  world,  I 
shall  feel  that  my  effort  has  not  been  in  vain. 

"The  Socialist  maintains  that  a  class-struggle  exists 
in  the  social  order;  in  a  word,  that  there  are  two  mighty 


BULMAN   TALKS  ETHICS  2QQ 

factors  in  the  modern  state  which  make  for  revolution. 
The  capitalist  class  exploiting  the  material  world  of  its 
wealth,  through  the  ownership  of  the  machinery  of  pro 
duction  and  the  power  that  ownership  gives  over  the 
workers,  and  over  against  it  the  sweating  millions. 

"The  exploiting,  capitalist  class  has  need  for  a  large 
retinue  of  go-betweens,  politicians,  teachers,  bribe  hand 
lers,  labor  misleaders,  and  flunkies  in  general. 

"Holding  first  place  in  all  councils  of  state  and 
church,  and  by  reason  of  its  wealth  always  arbiter  of 
social  activities,  it  is  but  natural  that  all  who  are  ambi 
tious  for  such  distinction  as  society  may  give  should  both 
ape  and  envy  our  dollar-damned  leaders. 

"This  being  the  case,  the  great  majority  of  our  pro 
fessional,  business,  and  legitimatized-gambling  families, 
together  with  their  retinue  of  little  parasites,  give  tongue 
to  the  cry  raised  by  their  masters,  when  the  Socialist 
condemns  the  class  division  in  society  and  seeks  to  de 
stroy  it  through  the  introduction  of  an  industrial  de 
mocracy. 

"On  labor's  side  of  this  shifting  class  line,  you  will 
observe  a  few  men  of  wealth,  an  army  of  professors, 
not  a  few  writers,  and  a  great  body  of  students,  all  of 
whom  are  willing  to  go  down  into  the  old  melting-pot 
of  democracy  along  with  the  workers,  in  order  that  they 
may  be  the  better  able  to  reach  the  exploited  class  with 
the  program  offered  by  the  social  democracy.  Along  with 
these  recruits  from  -the  class  above,  come  the  class- 
conscious  workers  who  accept  the  philosophy  of  Social 
ism  as  their  demand.  Below  them  stand  the  great  mass 
of  the  exploited,  unreasoning  labor  world.  And  out  of 
this  great  army  of  labor,  every  man  and  woman  who  lives 
upon  the  other  side  of  the  class  line  must  draw  food, 
clothing,  shelter  and  all  the  luxuries  they  enjoy.  The 
product  of  the  producers  being  limited,  it  follows  that  the 
more  the  exploiting  class  draws  from  the  wealth  pro 
duced  from  the  land,  in  mine,  mill,  or  factory,  the  less 
the  producer  may  have  for  his  own  needs.  And  your 
ethical  laws  are  so  fixed  that  the  idle  class  and  its 
hangers-on  may  revel  in  the  plunder  taken  out  of  the 
worker's  life,  while  his  family  suffers  the  keen  pangs  of 
a  hundred  hungers — and  it  is  'ethical/ 

"In  order  to  better  exploit  the  producers  of  wealth, 


30O  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

our  capitalists  institute  boards  of  trade,  through  which 
to  rob  the  farmer — and  this  is  'ethical/  To  control  their 
employes  in  our  industrial  centers,  they  establish  spy  sys 
tems,  hire  men  to  join  unions,  and,  for  a  few  dol 
lars,  become  the  abettors  of  perjury — and  this  is  'ethical.' 

"When  your  captain  of  industry  wants  to  destroy  a 
rival  in  business,  or  violate  the  laws  of  the  land,  he 
lays  his  scheme  for  escaping  the  law  before  his  legal 
adviser,  and  that  gentleman  proceeds  to  'fix  it' — and  that, 
too,  is  'ethical/ 

"When  one  of  our  great  business  men  is  caught  with 
his  hands  deep  in  the  pockets  of  the  people,  a  man  who 
has  sworn  to  uphold  the  law,  an  attorney,  if  you  please, 
appears  for  his  client  and  all  the  machinery  of  evasion, 
subterfuge,  technicality,  and  chicanery  is  put  in  motion 
to  defeat  the  law — and  this  is  'ethical/ 

"Your  lawyers  have  perverted  every  ethic  law  is 
based  upon,  wherever  and  whenever  wealth  has  been 
cited  before  the  bar;  but  they,  and  -the  bench  as  well, 
make  up  for  this  laxity  when  the  poor,  half-maddened 
victim  of  your  class-ethic  is  brought  to  bar.  Away  with 
him!  If  he  has  stolen  a  ham  to  feed  a  starving  child, 
send  him  to  the  penitentiary.  Let  the  majesty  of  the  law 
be  vindicated!  Had  he  only  stolen  a  railroad  or  some 
thousands  of  acres  of  land,  he  could  have  had  a  mis 
trial,  and  at  the  next  election  he  might  go  to  congress — 
and  this  is  'ethical/ 

"Your  M.  D/s  have  fought  for  hundreds  of  years 
to  compel  suffering  humanity  to  accept  horse  medicine, 
divers  poisons,  a  squirt-gun  and  a  lancet,  as  the  only 
implements  and  remedies  fit  to  minister  to  suffering  flesh. 
In  every  legislature,  in  every  state,  they  have  lied,  lob 
bied,  and  bribed,  and  bulldozed  every  other  school  of 
practice.  Every  individual  doctor  standing  for  progress 
has  been  sandbagged  by  the  Doctors'  Slugging  Commit 
tee.  Mark  them  down,  homeopathic,  eclectic,  osteopathic, 
biochemic;  all  these  schools  of  progressive  treatment 
have  suffered  at  the  hands  of  these  saw-bones — and  this 
is  'ethical/ 

"Your  manufacturers  organize  a  union,  elect  a  slug 
ging  committee  and  go  out  after  members,  with  the 
plea  that  they  must  organize  to  keep  labor  from  organ- 


BULMAN   TALKS   ETHICS  301 

izing,  and  to  break  up  those  labor  organizations  already 
established;  and  this,  too,  is  'ethical.' 

"Your  business  men  organize  a  Merchants'  Associa 
tion  and  send  out  a  committee  -to  solicit  members.  They 
send  their  families  to  church,  while  their  Trice  Making 
Committee'  meets  to  fix  prices  for  the  next  week.  How 
much  any  member  may  pay  for  produce,  how  much  he 
shall  charge  for  his  wares,  is  fixed,  and  woe  to  the 
'business  man  who  will  not  join  this  most  'ethical*  asso 
ciation. 

"But  of  all  the  organizations  in  this  day  of  organized 
'ethics/  the  lawyers'  Bar  Association  takes  preeminence 
as  the  most  unethical,  most  venal,  unprincipled,  lawless 
aggregation  of  them  all.  To  hear  a  bunch  of  its  high 
lights — each  of  them  an  attorney  for  from  one  to  a  dozen 
piratical  concerns — when  they  are  -met  together  -to  dis 
cuss  "The  Ethics  of  the  Bar"  must  certainly  cause  the 
good  Christian's  very  bad  devil  to  laugh  -with  glee ;  yet, 
I  desire  to  assure  you,  this  association  is  as  'ethical'  as 
your  ministerial  association  or  the  patent  poison  adver 
tising  religious  press  of  this  day. 

"The  last  'ethical'  organization  on  the  side  of  capi 
talism  to  which  I  desire  to  call  attention  to-night  is 
that  of  our  worthy  bankers.  Able  assistants  are  they  to 
our  gambling  fraternity,  the  right-hand  men  of  the 
speculators  who  filch  their  winnings  largely  from  the 
decaying  middle  class. 

"The  bankers  spend  your  money  liberally  in  the  hope 
of  winning  a  fortune,  and  when  they  have  lost  your 
savings,  you  are  blandly  admonished  to  keep  your  mouth 
shut  for  the  good  of  the  business  world.  They  advo 
cate  the  arbitrary  abrogation  of  your  banking  laws  when 
they  get  pinched ;  but  they  are  over-anxious  that  the  com 
mon  herd  shall  obey  the  laws  they  have  had  passed  for 
the  protection  of  their  very  profitable  business.  Should 
one  of  them  be  convicted  of  violating  the  class  laws 
their  association  has  secured,  you  will  discover  that  the 
violation  was  but  technical;  and  should  the  banker  be 
found  to  have  forged  notes  for  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  dollars,  learned  gentlemen  belonging  to  that  eminently 
ethical  association  entrenched  in  our  courts  will  argue 
the  'intent'  of  the  act,  and  finally  this  farce  in  the  name 
of  'ethics,'  will  end  either  in  the  banker  becoming  a 


3O2  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

bookkeeper  or  clerk  for  a  short  term  in  our  penitentiary, 
or  he  goes  scot  free  through  the  application  of  a  tech 
nicality — and  it  is  'ethical/  But  we  Socialists  warn  all 
poor  mortals  against  forging  commercial  paper  or 
memorandum  notes,  for  the  propertyless  man  will  go  on 
the  rock  pile  for  ten  years  if  he  tries  to  filch  twenty-five 
dollars  from  a  'bank,  and  it  won't  make  an  iota  of  differ 
ence  what  his  'intent*  may  have  foeen. 

"Take  all  these  organizations  of  the  exploiting  class 
and  let  us  see  what  next  they  will  do  in  the  name  of 
'ethics/  Nothing  more  nor  less  than  the  formation  of 
an  association  of  Post-nuts  scab  worshipers,  made  up  of 
delegates  from  the  organizations  I  have  mentioned.  This 
alliance  for  the  promulgation  of  patriotism  is  never 
known  to  flourish  in  a  soil  that  has  not  first  been  plow 
ed  by  organized  labor.  Its  speakers  are  drawn  from 
pulpit,  platform,  and  the  marts  of  trade.  All  swear 
that  a  man  who  Jo/ins  a  militant  organization  puts  a 
collar  of  servitude  about  his  neck.  'Freedom  of  Con 
tract'  is  the  very  breath  of  social  and  business  life,  they 
shout  at  us.  Yet,  each  one  of  these  men  is  held  by  the 
'ethics'  of  the  association  to  which  he  belongs  in  just 
that  sort  of  servitude.  The  free  man,  a  scab,  we  are 
told,  is  the  noblest  work  of  God,  the  best  citizen,  the 
highest  exponent  of  a  perfect  patriotism,  and  all  the 
goo-goos,  me-toos,  reformers,  and  delegates,  cry  'amen, 
amen/ 

"Just  across  the  line  that  divides  the  workaday  world 
from  this  most  savory  gathering  of  the  elect,  a  labor 
agitator  and  a  Socialist  gets  busy.  He  tells  the  work 
ers  that  organization  will  give  them  power  to  shorten 
the  work  day  and  increase  wages,  that  they  may  have 
more  of  leisure  and  more  of  comfort  in  their  homes  if 
they  will  organize  for  mutual  protection,  as  have  the 
politicians,  capitalists,  -manufacturers,  merchants,  law 
yers,  doctors,  and  preachers. 

"Then,  going  a  step  farther,  the  agitator  insists  that 
the  producers  of  the  world's  wealth  may  adequately  pro 
tect  their  product  when  they  understand  the  power  they 
may  wield  through  the  ballot,  and  at  once,  and  from 
every  quarter,  our  Parryized  Scab  Hunting  Push  sends 
up  the  cry:  'Away  with  the  agitator!  Crucify  him! 
is  a  disturber!  An  un-Christian,  un-American,  un- 


HPe 


BULMAN   TALKS   ETHICS  303 

patriotic  disturber,  who  is  stirring  up  discontent!'  And 
at  once  every  little  lickspittle  in  the  camp  of  the  ex 
ploiters  takes  up  the  cry — and  it's  all  'ethical.'  " 

For  many  a  day  after,  Bulman's  rapid  fire  talk  on 
ethics  was  discussed  with  bated  breath  at  parlor  gather 
ings  throughout  the  city. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

YANCEY  PLAYS  A  PART. 

"Mr.  Yancey,  I  want  to  thank  you  for  your  timely 
suggestion  when  we  had  this  plan  under  consideration/' 

This  was  the  salutation  with  which  the  superintend 
ent  greeted  the  foreman  when  he  had  responded  to  a 
call  to  the  office  some  weeks  after  the  foremen  had  re 
ceived  their  instructions. 

"You're  welcome  to  anything  I  can  do  to  keep  busi 
ness  moving/'  Yancey  replied,  seating  himself. 

"That's  the  spirit;  that's  the  spirit.''  The  superin 
tendent  was  all  enthusiasm.  "And  Mr.  Yancey,  do  you 
know  I  am  more  than  surprised  at  the  comprehensive 
reports  I  have  received  from  yourself,  Moran  and 
Brush?  Why,  I  had  not  contemplated  the  possibility 
of  making  half  the  saving  your  reports  suggest.  I  have 
been  going  over  them  one  at  a  time.  I  had  both  the 
others  in  here,  and  they  insist  that  the  changes  they 
suggest  may  be  made  without  more  than  a  grumble  or 
two  on  the  part  of  the  men,  and  I  have  decided  to  order 
these  changes,  provided  you  are  of  the  same  mind  re 
garding  your  department." 

"Well,  there's  one  phase  of  the  situation  that  has 
struck  me  since  I  sent  in  my  report,  Mr.  Price."  Yan 
cey  looked  squarely  at  the  official.  "I  had  not  taken 
into  consideration  the  union  men  in  the  shop.  You 
see,"  he  added  hastily,  "a  cut  in  wages,  or  a  change  to 
the  piece-system  will  give  the  union  people  the  best 
argument  in  the  world,  and  they  will  doubtless  use  it. 
Xow,  I  would  suggest  that  we  ought  to  have  a  man  in 
each  department  or  at  least  in  the  more  important  ones, 
who,  while  nominally  a  union  man,  may  be  depended 
upon  to  report  to  us.  I  understand  there  are  several 
companies  who  are  prepared  to  furnish  men." 

"The  very  thing!"  Price  nodded  vigorously.  "And 
I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  not  tell  you;  of  course, 

304 


YANCEY   PLAYS   A   PART  305 

you  understand  it  is  to  go  no  farther.  Our  company  is 
already  a  member  of  the  Corporations'  Protective  Asso 
ciation,  and  we  can  get  men  here  within  a  week  if  neces 
sary."  Price  was  in  high  feather.  He  felt  that  Yancey 
was  to  be  of  great  service  to  him. 

"I'm  glad  we  are  so  well  fixed  to  handle  them.  And 
when  you  send  for  a  man  for  my  department,  don't  for 
get  that  I  want  one  who  is  not  a  union  man,  but  wants 
to  join.  He  will  be  able  to  do  good  work." 

"When  do  you  think  we  ought  to  have  him  here? 
They  cost  about  one  hundred  per  month  besides  the  reg 
ular  wages." 

"Well,  there  is  no  immediate  hurry.  You  say  you 
can  get  them  on  a  week's  notice?  I'll  think  it  over  and 
let  you  know.  Anyway,  I  don't  believe  I  will  need  my 
man  for  a  couple  of  weeks." 

When  Yancey  had  returned  to  his  work,  Price  called 
Moses  Webster  in,  dismissed  the  office  stenographer, 
and  dictated  the  following  letter: 

Chicago,  19 — 
Corporations'  Protective  Association,  Cleveland,  Ohio: 

Gentlemen — We  were  very  much  pleased  to  learn  of  the 
successful  launching  of  your  very  worthy  association,  and 
may  be  hammering  at  your  doors  with  a  cry  for  "Help"  in 
a  short  time.  Please  write  us  fully  as  to  cost  to  us  per 
week  for  three  men,  good  mechanics;  one  a  machinist,  the 
other  a  moulder,  the  third  to  be  named  later;  none  of  them 
union  men,  but  all  willing  to  join.  You  notice  we  are  anxious 
to  have  our  men  organized.  Let  us  hear  from  you  fully, 
also,  tell  us  just  how  long  it  will  take  to  get  the  men  to 
us  after  you  receive  wire  from  us  for  three.  Yours  cordially, 

The  Holdon  Co., 
P.  Price,  Mgr. 

There  had  never  been  such  a  harvest  of  applications 
in  so  short  a  time  from  one  establishment  for  member 
ship  to  trade  unions  as  came  out  of  the  Holdon  Co.'s 
plant  within  two  weeks  after  Mr.  Price  had  introduced 
the  piece-work  system  and  began  cutting  wages. 

Yancey  disliked  his  part  in  the  battle  more  and  more 
as  the  days  went  by,  but  as  he  thought  of  the  infamous 
spy  system  he  brought  his  jaws  together  over  a  tongue 
that  often  brought  him  near  to  trouble  those  days. 
Smiling  grimly,  he  walked  over  to  the  office  one  morn 
ing  and  ordered  three  spies  to  be  delivered  within  the 


306  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

week.  Manager  Price  sent  for  Moses  at  once  and  in 
structed  him  to  send  "for  3,"  as  indicated  in  his  letter 
of  previous  date. 

Moses  Webster,  at  the  close  of  his  labors  that  day, 
waited  until  Wilson  came  through  the  office  building  to 
leave  his  reports,  and  hastened  out  after  him. 

"Say,  Wilson,  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you  if  you 
have  time.  How's  things  coming  in  the  shop?"  was  his 
query  as  they  fell  into  step. 

Wilson  eyed  him  keenly.  "Are  you  talking  from  an 
office  standpoint  or  on  the  basis  of  our  long  friend 
ship?"  he  demanded. 

"Well,  Wilson,  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  that;" 
he  hesitated.  "You  see,  it's  this  way — Holdon  gave 
me  an  increase  and  then  put  me  in  a  confidential  posi 
tion,  and  it  was  something  I  have  learned  in  that  ca 
pacity  that  has  been  causing  me  a  world  of  uneasiness." 
He  looked  straight  into  the  eyes  of  the  old  foreman. 
"George,  I  wish  to  God  I  was  back  on  my  sixteen  dollar 
job.  You  know  I  have  been  calling  myself  a  Christian 
— how  serious  the  thing  is  growing,  you  will  be  able  to 
guess  when  I  tell  you  I  must  either  quit  my  job  or  the 
church."  His  voice  broke  and  the  older  man  looked  his 
astonishment.  "I  don't  know  what  to  do — we  need — we 
must  have  money  to  live  on  and  this  is  a  poor  time  to 
go  hunting  a  job." 

"Moses,"  the  foreman  replied,  "it's  always  a  safe  rule 
to  do  right,  or  at  least,  what  your  conscience  tells  you 
is  right." 

"If  I'd  done  that,  I'd  been  out  of  a  job  the  day  after  I 
got  my  raise." 

"Well,  what  in  the  name  of  time " 

Moses  interrupted.  "Will  you  promise  never  to  tell 
a  soul  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you?" 

"I  don't  want  any  secrets " 

"But,  I  want  your  advice,"  the  young  man  protested. 
"I've  known  you  since  I  first  came  here  and  I  have  al 
ways  heard  men  say,  'George  Wilson  is  a  man  to  tie 
to/  " 

"All  right,  Moses,  fire  away,  but  remember  I  may  ask 
you  to  give  my  promise  back."  Moses  paid  no  attention 
to  this  and  plunged  at  once  into  his  story. 


YANCEY   PLAYS   A   PART  307 

"The  Holdon  Company  is  doing  a  dirty,  despicably- 
dirty  thing,  Wilson.  And  I  am  the  one  through  whose 
hands  all  the  correspondence  passes.  They  are  members 
of  a  great  company,  backed  by  over  one  hundred  big 
employers  of  labor,  who  through  this  company  hire  men 
to  join  the  unions;  then  make  daily  reports  on  all  the 
men  do  or  say  in  their  meetings.  They  also  keep  track 
of  the  men  on  work,  and  this  information  is  purchased 
at  the  price  of  perjury  and  is  clearly  a  conspiracy  against 
the  men."  Wilson's  look  of  amazement  halted  the  nar 
rative. 

"You,  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  there  is  such  a 
company  ?" 

"Yes,  and  the  Holdon  Company  holds  five  hundred 
dollars  stock  in  it." 

"And  I  thought  that  story  was  a  Socialist  lie,"  Wilson 
admitted  in  a  low  voice. 

"Lie,  nothing !  I  sent  to  them  to-dav  for  three  spies ; 
they  will  be  here  within  a  week.  There,  it's  out  and  thank 
God;  I  feet  better." 

Wilson  looked  up  blankly  at  the  closing  exclamation, 
slowly  rubbed  his  stubby,  gray  beard  and  stood  silent. 

"What  would  you  advise  me  to  do?" 

"Moses,  you  have  knocked  a  couple  of  props  from 
under  me ;  consequently  I  am  not  just  steady  in  my  upper 
works,  and — and  I  need  time.  You  don't  mean  to  say 
Mr.  Holdon  went  into  this  thing?" 

"Mr.  Holdon  dictated  the  letter  accepting  member- 
ship- 

"Well,  I'll  be  — .  Say,  Moses,  how  long  'has  it  been 
going  on?" 

"Ever  since  they  got  afraid  the  men  would  organ 
ize." 

"And  Mr.  Holdon  did  this?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Holdon." 

"Give  me  time,  Moses,  give  me  time;  the  world 
wasn't  made  in  a  minute.  I  ain't  going  to  give  your 
story  away;  but  I  want  to  suppose  a  case  with  another 
man  before  I  give  you  an  answer.  You  see,  the  men  in 
the  shops  and  the  foremen  have  some  rights." 

"Yes,  I  saw  that — that's  why  I  said  I  either  had  to 
give  up  my  job  or  my  religion." 

"Yes,  yes,  boy,  I  see;  pretty  tough  pill  to  take,  but 


308  MILLS   Or    GAMMON 

your  conscience  won't  die  over  night,  not  as  long  as  it 
has  been  getting  tougher  right  along." 

"Oh,  I  can  stand  it  until  the  spies  arrive;  then  I've 
got  to  do  one  thing  or  the  other." 

"Yes,  either  stand  by  the  men  and  your  conscience, 
or  by  the  perjurers  and  your  job.  Well,  I'll  give  you  my 
opinion  in  time  enough." 

It  so  happened  that  Yancey  was  approached  by  Wil 
son  the  day  after  and  a  supposititious  case  was  presented 
to  him,  by  a  serious-faced  fellow  foreman  who  wanted  to 
know  did  Yancey  believe  the  stories  told  about  spies  be 
ing  hired  to  enter  unions  and  report  on  the  men  in  the 
shops?  "No,"  Yancey  replied,  "I  couldn't  believe  in  any 
thing  quite  so  damnable,"  and  repeated  that  time-worn 
assertion :  "It's  a  confounded  Socialist  lie,  told  to  stir  up 
strife  between  the  men  and  their  employers." 

Wilson  wore  a  sickly  grin  in  memory  of  his  belief  of 
the  day  before. 

"But  suppose,"  he  insisted,  "that  it  was  the  truth  and 
was  being  worked  on  us  in  this  plant,  what  then?" 

"Then — why — why — "  Yancey  was  sparring  for 
breath.  Wilson  was  bringing  it  too  close  home  for  com 
fort.  Was  it  possible  there  was  a  "leaker"  on  their  little 
board.  "Why,  oh,  hell,  Wilson,  what's  the  use;  there 
ain't  no  sense  in  such  talk.  Why,  man,  if  it  was  true  it 
would  drive  every  one  of  us  who  had  an  ounce  of 
self-respect  into  the  unions  to  fight  it — that's  all." 

"That's  me  to  a  dot,  Yancey,  and  I'm  here  to  tell  you 
I  may  call  upon  you  one  of  these  short  days  to  repeat 
the  last  part  of  that  warm  talk  of  yours." 

Feigning  surprise,  Yancey  faced  around  from  the  blue 
print  he  had  been  examining. 

"What's  that?"  he  demanded. 

"Wait  and  see,"  Wilson  answered  as  he  hurried 
away. 

From  Yancey  he  went  to  Miller  and  went  through  the 
same  process  with  him. 

"That's  all  right,  Wilson;  I  don't  say  there  are  no 
such  things  going  on  among  the  thousands  and  thousands 
of  men  who  employ  labor,  but  I  contend  that  no  man 
with  a  decent  regard  for  the  sanctity  of  an  oath  would 
be  a  party  to  a  scheme  to  induce  men  to  betray  others 


YANCEY   PLAYS   A   PART  309 

they  had  sworn  to  protect.  Why,  that's  too  far  behind 
the  'ethics'  of  a  heathen  nation  for  a  Christian  to  be  able 
to  comprehend  the  utter  depravity  of  the  thing." 

Wilson  stood  nodding,  nodding  in  affirmation  as  Mil 
ler  laid  down  the  moral  law  with  swinging  arms.  When 
the  latter  paused,  he  asked: 

"Now,  suppose  our  firm,  the  Holdon  Company,  should 
enter  into  such  a  scheme  and  hire  spies  to  join  the 
unions  represented  here — suppose  they  did  ?  What  would 
you  do?" 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'd  do,"  he  looked  about  as  though 
there  were  a  possibility  that  the  spies  might  be  within 
earshot.  "I'd  help  hang  the  spies,  then  organize  the 
works  from  top  to  bottom  and  'tend  to  Price.  Say,  little 
Mickey  had  him  named  right,  when  he  called  him  'stinker/ 
I'd  tend  to  'Stinker'  Price  later."  He  looked  intently  at 
his  visitor  for  a  time,  then  said:  "Wilson,  you  don't 
mean  to  say  there's  anything  like  that  going  on  here?" 
Then  added,  hastily :  "It  sounds  too  much  like  rant." 

Wilson  was  laughing  when  he  left  Miller  and  went 
over  to  visit  Moran  on  the  casting*  floor.  He  would  be 
even  with  Price  yet.  All  he  needed  was  to  get  Moses  to 
agree  to  tell  the  several  foremen  over  the  more  impor 
tant  departments  the  story  as  he  had  told  it  the  day  be 
fore,  and  there  would  be  things  doing  in  that  plant.  He 
walked  into  Moran's  little  cubby  office  in  one  corner  of 
the  shop  and  after  a  hasty  "good  morning,"  Moran  look 
ed  out  the  window  and  turned  back  quickly. 

"Wilson,  unless  you've  got  something  that  can't  wait, 
I  wish  you  would  go;  Price  is  coming  and  it  won't  be 
healthy  for  us  foremen,  office  boys,  I  should  have  said, 
to  be  seen  together."  Wilson  started  for  the  door  with 
out  a  word. 

"I'll  come  over  in  an  hour,"  Moran  called  after  him. 

When  Price  entered,  Moran  was  busy  over  his  re 
ports. 

"What  did  you  want  ?"  the  visitor  asked. 

"Why,  I've  got  a  man  here  I  want  to  get  rid  of," 
Moran  replied,  without  looking  up. 

"Well,  why  don't  you  write  out  your  complaint  and 
send  it  to  the  office  ?  I  can't  be  giving " 

"My  complaint,"  Moran  interrupted,  still  busy  on  his 


3IO  MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

work,  "wouldn't  look  good  even  in  the  office.  The  man's 
a  splendid  worker." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  the  facts  are,  he's  a  union  man  and  I  am  afraid 
he's  having  a  bad  effect  on  the  others.  He's  constantly 
telling  them,  if  they  were  organized  they  could  knock 
out  the  piece  work  in  a  week." 

Price  reached  out  his  hand. 

"Moran,  I  am  glad  you  brought  this  to  my  attention. 
Just  write  on  your  complaint  blank,  'discharge  recom 
mended  for  the  betterment  of  shop  discipline/  and  it  will 
go  straight  to  the  secretary.  I  don't  want  to  waste  words 
with  that  sort  of  cattle." 

He  left  the  room  and  left  behind  him  a  man  whose 
massive  features  were  wreathed  in  smiles. 

Williams,  the  man  who  was  to  be  "discharged  for  the 
betterment  of  shop  discipline,"  was  a  thorough  union 
man,  but  he  had  a  large  family  to  support  and,  scenting 
trouble  ahead,  had  quietly  looked  about  for  another  job. 
As  soon  as  he  had  found  one,  he  opened  up  on  the  man 
agement  and  the  non-unionists,  before  work  began  at 
noon  and  after  the  night  whistle.  Moran  had  gone  to 
him  the  day  before  and  suggested  that  he  might  hurt  his 
cause  by  such  tactics.  Williams  had  replied  that  he 
wanted  to  be  "canned." 

Fifteen  minutes  after  Price  left  the  shop,  Moran 
walked  out  of  the  office  with  a  bit  of  paper  in  his  hand. 
Williams  guessed  what  was  coming  and  stopped  work 
to  talk  with  a  non-union  man  on  the  job  next  to  him 
as  Moran  approached.  With  the  eyes  of  at  least  fifty 
men  upon  him,  men  who  had  been  telling  each  other  he 
would  be  "canned,"  he  took  the  slip  of  paper  from  Mor- 
an's  hand.  High  words  followed  and  finally,  Moran  or 
dered  him  from  the  floor. 

Carson,  bending  over  his  flask,  pounding  sand  for 
dear  life,  asked  himself:  "Was  it  possible  that  Moran 
was  a  traitor  after  all?"  One  of  the  best  men  on  the 
floor,  who  had  held  out  against  the  unionists,  came  along 
shortly  after  and  pretending  to  want  the  loan  of  a  tool, 
said  to  Carson: 

"You  can  have  my  application  at  noon.  I  know,  and 
every  man  in  the  shop  knows,  we  can't  go  on  in  this 


YANCEY   PLAYS   A   PART  311 

v-.yay.    And,  if  men  are  to  be  fired  because  they  are  not 
fraid  to  say  what  they  think,  why,  the  sooner  we  are  all 
ide  the  fence,  the  better." 

That  night  several  men  in  Moran's  department  whoiii 
,he  men  hoped  to  get  in  had  made  application  to  the 
union,  and  all  but  two  of  them  thought  Moran  in  full 
sympathy  with  the  management. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

CARSON,  PHYSICAL  INSTRUCTOR. 

In  a  quiet  little  hall  on  a  side  street,  near  the  great 
Holdon  plant,  seven  men  had  met  to  discuss  the  situa 
tion  at  the  works. 

"It's  coming  along  just  a  little  bit  too  fast  to  suit 
me,"  John  Bulman  was  saying,  when  Carson,  the  big 
moulder,  interrupted : 

"It  can't  come  too  fast  for  me,  and  if  it  ever  comes 
to  a  time  when  I  can  take  a  crack  at  'Stinker*  Price  I 
won't  begrudge  a  year's  work." 

"There's  too  much  of  that  feeling  in  the  works,  too 
much ;  that's  one  thing  we  must  curb."  Brush  was  talk 
ing.  Yancey  laughed  as  he  said: 

"Talk  about  wild  men.  This  is  the  third  week  under 
our  piece-work  system.  The  first  day  the  men  growled 
like  the  very  devil,  and  our  union  boys  laughed  at  the 
others,  and  then  lit  in  and  growled  harder  than  any  of 
them.  At  noon,  the  first  day,  every  man  on  piece-work 
was  figuring  on  his  earnings  from  the  time  he'd  swal 
lowed  his  grub  until  the  whistle  blew.  At  night  they 
were  a  glum-looking  outfit.  When  a  machine  went 
wrong  they  fairly  cussed  the  air  blue.  On  day  work 
they  would  have  whistled  and  took  their  own  time  fixing 
it.  Well,  it's  been  getting  worse  all  the  time,  and  to 
day  the  piece-work  men  held  a  meeting  at  noon  and  put 
it  up  to  me  to  make  a  demand  to-morrow  for  the  old  or 
der  of  things." 

"My  men  didn't  hold  a  meeting,"  Brush  reported, 
"because  there's  but  few  of  them  on  piece-work,  but  I 
gave  over  half  of  them  another  two  per  cent  cut  in 
wages;  the  notice  was  posted  day  before  yesterday,  and 
things  are  looking  black." 

"My  men,"  said  Moran,  "are  all  up  in  arms,  from 
the  sand  boy  up,  and  whenever  Price  so  much  as  sticks 

312 


CARSON,  PHYSICAL  INSTRUCTOR  313 

his  nose  inside  there's  enough  under-breath  cursing  to 
sink  a  ship." 

"Who  can  tell  how  any  of  the  other  foremen  are 
coming?"  Downey,  organizer  for  the  moulders,  inquired. 

"Well,  Miller's  been  over  to  my  place  twice  to-day, 
an'  says  he  hopes  to  God  the  unions  will  get  busy  and 
get  every  man  in  the  plant." 

"Did  you  sound  'him,  Brother  Brush,  as  to  his  per 
sonal  feelings  in  the  matter?"  Yancey  inquired. 

"No;  I  wanted  to  let  him  sweat  a  little  longer.  You 
see,  Price  wasn't  nearly  as  well  satisfied  with  either  Mil 
ler's  or  Wilson's  reports" — the  men  laughed — "as  he  was 
with  ours,  so  he  goes  over  to  their  departments  and 
makes  things  fairly  sizzle.  When  it  gets  hot  enough, 
I'll  see  Miller  again." 

"How  about  Wilson?" 

"Wilson's  advising  his  new  men  to  join  the  union, 
and  told  them  if  they'd  make  a  clean  job  of  it  he'd  go 
into  it  and  help  them  till  hell  froze  over." 

"Bully  for  Wilson." 

"That's  the  talk." 

"And  the  next  thing  is  to  get  the  spies  in  and  find 
out  who's  who,"  Bulman  began,  when  Moran  asked : 

"How  are  we  to  handle  the  departments  in  which 
the  foremen  are  not  with  us  ?" 

"Why,  we  won't  have  spies  sent  into  those  depart 
ments." 

"But  if  he  does  send  them?" 

"So  much  the  worse  for  the  spy,  that's  all,"  from 
Carson. 

"Well,  we  want  to  agree  upon  just  what  is  to  be  done. 
I  believe  in  an  eye  for  an  eye  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth,  if 
we  have  to  fight  for  it.  Price  will  have  injunctions 
served  on  every  union,  and  there  will  be  broken  heads 
after  the  strike  begins.  If  we  have  to  fight  for  decent 
conditions  against  spy  systems,  injunctions,  scabs  and 
policemen,  I,  for  one,  am  not  going  to  be  too  nice  about 
taking  a  whack  at  a  head  before  the  show  opens,  if  it 
will  make  us  one  less  to  handle." 

"Carson,"  said  Brush,  "we  will  make  you  a  present 
of  the  job  of  physical  instructor,  without  vote,  without 
salary,  without  authority  other  than  your  two  good  arms, 


314  MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

and  may  God  have  pity  upon  the  poor,  shrunken-souled 
spy  who  gets  within  reach  of  them." 

All  joined  in  the  laugh  that  followed  the  mock  crea 
tion  of  this  office,  but  Carson's  savage  snarl  sobered 
them. 

"Of  course  it  is  understood  that  nothing  is  to  be 
done  by  any  individual  member  of  this  committee  with- 
out  the  sanction  of  the  body,"  Bulman  interposed ;  "also 
that  the  names  of  all  applicants  for  membership  in  the 
unions  represented  here  be  withheld  until  this  board  is 
ready  to  act.  It  is  also  understood  that  the  other  shop 
foremen  who  do  not  come  over  by  the  time  we  are 
ready  to  make  our  demands  are  to  be  notified  by  the 
men  in  their  departments  that  they  shall  refuse  to  work 
under  them  when  the  trouble  is  settled." 

With  this  understanding,  the  conference  broke  up. 
At  about  the  same  time  Price  left  the  downtown  apart 
ments  of  the  magnate  and  went  to  his  rooms  to  dream 
of  the  conquest  of  a  golden  future  in  which  he  was  to 
enjoy  the  fruits  of  another's  labor. 


CHAPTER   XLV. 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  THE  SPIES. 

"They've  come,"  the  foreman  whispered  to  John  Bui- 
man  one  morning  as  the  two  met  at  the  street  corner. 
"Price  had  me  in  last  night,  when  we  knocked  off,  and 
he's  as  tickled  as  a  kid  with  his  first  pants." 

It  was  a  grim  smile  that  played  about  John's  mouth, 
as  he  made  answer:  "And  may  God  pity  them." 

And  "they"  who  had  arrived,  lost  no  time  in  making 
it  known  in  the  departments  to  which  they  had  been  as 
signed  that  they  were  strongly  in  favor  of  unions.  Many 
were  the  stories  they  narrated  of  strikes  and  lockouts 
in  which,  While  they  were  not  strikers,  they  had  assisted 
the  good  cause  by  breaking  a  head  or  two  when  the 
'Chance  offered.  Off  work,  they  were  total  strangers,  un 
til  they  were  safely  away  from  the  men. 

For  four  days,  Price  received  the  reports  of  his  spies 
with  joy  mingled  with  a  tempering  doubt.  The  fifth 
day's  report  from  both  the  moulder  and  machinist,  were 
scarcely  to  his  liking. 

The  machinist  reported:  Men  mostly  mum  on  question  of 
union  men  in  here;  one  man,  John  Bulman,  is  most  danger 
ous,  I  should  judge.  He's  got  a  lot  of  horse  sense  and  says 
flat-footed  that  every  man  here  ought  to  be  in  the  union.  I 
gave  him  my  application  to-day.  He's  a  funny  cuss,  looked  at 
me  kind  of  queer  and  says,  "Do  you  realize  the  gravity  of 
the  step  you  are  taking?"  He  will  bear  watching.  When 
word  went  round  the  shop  that  I'd  signed  up,  some  of  the  men 
I  couldn't  get  a  word  with  before  thawed  out,  and  I  have  com 
menced  to  pump  them.  (Signed)  W.  Y.  Farley. 

The  moulder  reported:  Moulding  floor  is  just  about  a 
"closed  shop,"  or  my  ten  years'  experience  in  getting  next 
goes  for  nothing.  I'm  to  be  taken  into  the  union  some  time 
next  week.  My  advice  is  for  you  to  begin  to  work  up  a  force 
to  take  hold  here,  for  if  I  know  anything  about  trouble  signs, 
I  see  them  in  this  plant.  I  put  off  telling  you  this  until 
I  was  sure.  (Signed)  P.  Johnson. 

315 


3l6  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"They  are  either  trying  to  earn  their  wages  by  giv 
ing  me  something  to  keep  me  awake,  or  I've  been  fooled 
in  the  men/'  was  Price's  comment  as  he  finished  the 
day's  reports  and  sent  for  Moses,  who  took  the  papers, 
and  after  reading  them  locked  them  in  the  vault. 

Out  in  the  big  plant  about  fifty  men,  machinists, 
moulders  and  blacksmiths,  all  men  who  had  served  al 
most  if  not  quite  as  many  years  in  their  unions  as  they 
had  at  their  trades,  were  taken  into  the  leaders'  confi 
dence,  and  were  assigned  a  part  in  the  coming  initiation 
of  W.  Y.  Farley,  P.  Johnson  and  A.  T.  Jones. 

A  week  passed,  a  week  that  brought  but  little  com 
fort  to  the  superintendent,  as  he  read  the  reports  of  his 
spies,  each  day  growing  more  lurid,  as  the  men  selected 
for  this  special  duty  plied  the  company's  men  with  ma 
terial  intended  to  unsettle  the  mind  of  "Stinker"  Price. 

The  week  in  passing  afforded  the  men  ample  oppor 
tunity  to  perfect  their  plans  for  the  initiation  of  the  spies. 
The  hall  secured,  the  several  men  who  were  to  assume 
the  role  of  officials  were  drilled  in  their  parts.  All  were 
instructed  to  wear  masks,  and  the  stage  being  set,  each 
of  the  three  men  was  instructed  to  appear  for  initia 
tion.  The  machinist  at  seven-thirty,  the  moulder  at  eight, 
and  the  blacksmith  at  eight-thirty.  It  was  impressed 
upon  the  would-be  members  that  they  must  be  punctual, 
or  they  might  have  to  wait  two  weeks  longer  before  be 
ing  taken  into  the  organizations. 

"Where  do  you  go  to  ride  the  goat?"  Johnson  asked 
Jones. 

"Over  on  Randolph  somewhere,  I've  got  the  number 
here." 

"Why,  that's  damned  funny;  that's  where  I  go!"  ex 
claimed  Johnson. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  there  may  be  a  dozen  unions  in 
the  one  building,"  Jones  assured  him. 

So  the  two  arranged  to  go  together.  At  seven- 
thirty,  both  men  were  standing  on  the  pavement  in  front 
of  the  number  to  which  they  had  been  directed. 

"There  went  three  of  our  men,"  Jones  observed  as  a 
half-dozen  workers  entered  the  building. 

"And  there  goes  Farley,— I'll " 

"Let  him  go,"  Johnson  interrupted,  catching  his  com 
panion  by  the  arm.  "I  don't  have  to  show  up  until 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  THE  SPIES  317 

eight,  and  I  guess  we  better  not  be  seen  together;  it 
might  not  pay  in  the  end.  I'm  going  to  a  saloon;  see 
you  to-morrow  night  and  talk  goat." 

Farley  was  met  at  the  landing  by  a  young  fellow 
whom  he  had  never  seen  before. 

"Is  one  of  you  gents  Mr.  Farley?"  the  latter  ques 
tioned,  as  Farley  came  up  with  two  others. 

"I'm  Farley." 

"You're  the  man,  then.  Well,  the  machinists  sent  me 
down  to  look  for  you,  they  are  waiting." 

"All  right,  go  ahead,"  Farley  answered  as  his  guide 
started  up  a  second  flight  of  stairs. 

The  guide  pushed  him  through  a  doorway,  the  door 
closed  behind  him  and  he  heard  a  key  turned  in  the 
lock.  Three  men  entered  through  another  doorway,  each 
wearing  a  mask. 

"Hello,  you  put  on  some  extra  touches  out  here. 
I — "  the  astonished  candidate  began  when  he  was  in 
terrupted  by  one  of  the  masked  men. 

"What  extra  touches,  brother?" 

"Why,  them  blinkers,"  he  replied. 

"Brother,  your  application  states  that  you  have  never 
been  a  member  of  our  order,  what  can  you  know  of  it's 
initiation  ?" 

"Nothing,  I — I  only  thought  labor  unions  didn't  use 
such  things." 

"You  will  know  more  after  your  initiation,"  the 
mask  replied. 

Another  mask  stepped  forward,  and  solemnly  said: 
"Brother,  you  have  given  one  of  our  brothers  an  appli- 
action  for  membership.  Did  you  do  this  of  your  own 
free  will?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  candidate  answered. 

"As  you  cannot  know  the  nature  of  the  obligation 
you  are  to  take  to-night,  I  am  instructed  to  inform  you 
that  it  is  both  solemn  and  binding,  yet  it  will  in  no  way 
conflict  with  your  duties  as  a  citizen,  neither*  will  it  in 
terfere  with  your  religious  belief.  With  this  assurance 
on  my  part  and  on  the  part  of  the  brothers  here,  are  you 
willing  to  take  the  obligation  ?" 

"I  am." 

"Then  may  God  help  you.  Brothers  prepare  the  can 
didate  for  initiation." 


318  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"That's  a  murderous  looking  gun  you  carry,"  one  of 
the  men  observed,  as  he  took  a  thirty-eight  caliber  auto 
matic  revolver  from  Farley's  pocket. 

"Here,  give  me  that  gun !"  The  candidate  made 
a  grab  for  it,  when  his  arm  was  caught  by  one  of  the 
men. 

"Not  so  fast,  brother,  not  so  fast;  that  gun  might 
scare  the  goat.  We'll  keep  it  until  we  get  through  and 
come  out  for  your  clothes." 

"All  right,  pard,  keep  it;  but,  on  the  level,  I  don't 
like  this  undressing  business,"  he  protested,  as  they 
stripped  him  to  shirt  and  pants,  and  led  him  into  the  hall. 

Farley  may  live  to  join  several  other  unions,  but  he 
will  never  forget  the  sight  that  met  his  gaze  as  he  was  led 
into  the  hall.  The  stillness  of  a  living  death  brooded 
over  it.  Four  stations  in  the  hall  were  occupied  by  robed 
figures,  masked  and  bearded,  while  the  masked  members 
banked  upon  either  side,  sat  rigid  in  their  chairs. 

"They  do  things  in  style  out  here,  all  right,"  the 
candidate  whispered  as  he  was  being  led  to  the  first 
station. 

"Worthy  Past  President,"  the  voice  of  the  guide 
droned  on  the  silence  as  he  swung  about  to  face  the  sta 
tion,  while  in  the  far  end  of  the  hall  four  raps  of  the 
gavel  sounded,  and  every  man  was  upon  his  feet  in  an 
instant. 

"I  bring  before  you  a  man  from  the  great  body  of  un 
organized  labor,  who  is  desirous  of  joining  our  order. 
Wrill  you  question  him?" 

The  worthy  Past  President  cleared  his  throat  with  an 
audible  effort  and  began:  "Fellow  worker,  this  good 
brother  who  acts  as  your  guide  assures  me  that  you  de 
sire  to  become  a  member  of  our  order,  is  this  true  ?" 

"It  is." 

"Do  you  know  that  you  will  be  required  to  take  an 
obligation  binding  upon  you  before  God  and  man,  an 
obligation  that  none  but  a  renegade,  without  sense  of 
honor  would  betray  ?  Do  you  realize  the  solemnity  of  an 
oath  and  that  you  must  take  this  obligation  before  our 
secrets  may  be  revealed  to  you?" 

"I  do." 

"Guide,  you  will  escort  the  candidate  around  the 
hall  in  order  that  each  member  may  closely  scrutinize 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  THE  SPIES  31Q 

him  before  he  is  allowed  to  take  the  obligation."  The 
speaker  lifted  his  voice  and  added:  "If  there  be  aught 
against  him,  if  one  of  the  brothers  present  knows  of 
any  good  reason  why  W.  Y.  Farley  should  not  be  ad 
mitted,  let  him  make  his  Objection  known,  before  the 
oath  is  administered."  A  single  rap  from  the  gavel,  and 
the  banked  rows  of  masks  peered  from  their  chairs  as 
the  two,  guide  and  candidate,  took  up  their  march  about 
the  hall. 

"Most  Worthy  President,"  again  they  halted  and 
again  the  gavel  rapped  the  members  to  their  feet,  "I 
bring  before  you  a  fellow  worker,  who  has  answered  all 
questions  satisfactorily,  who  has  also  passed  under  close 
scrutiny  of  the  brothers  here  present.  This  brother  de 
sires  membership  in  our  order,  and  I  present  him  for 
initiation." 

"He  has  answered  all  questions  ?" 

"He  has." 

"He  has  been  duly  elected?" 

The  clerk  answered,  "He  has." 

"His  initiation  fees  are  paid?" 

"They  are,"  the  treasurer  replied. 

"Then,  my  brother,  in  the  presence  of  God  and  the 
brothers  here  assembled,  I  ask  you;  are  you  willing  to 
take  an  oath  of  allegiance  to  this  order,  an  oath  that 
will  bind  you  before  all  men  to  keep  inviolate  the  secret 
business  of  this  organization?" 

"I  am."    The  words  came  in  a  low  tone  of  voice. 

"Speak  louder,"  the  guide  admonished. 

"I  am,"  the  candidate's  affirmation  was  heard  to  the 
ends  of  the  hall. 

"You  will  repeat  after  me,  using  your  name  where  I 
use  mine,  the  following  obligation:  "I,  W.  V.  Smith," 
(the  candidate  repeated,  "I,  W.  Y.  Farley,")  "do  solemn 
ly  swear  in  the  presence  of  God  and  the  witnesses  here 
assembled;  that  I  will  never  reveal  any  of  the  secret 
business,  signs  or  passwords,  oral  or  written,  that  may 
be  given  me  at  this  time,  or  at  any  time  in  the  future, 
to  any  one  not  a  member  of  this  order,  and  as  much  en 
titled  to  them  as  I  am.  I  further  swear,  as  God  is 
my  witness,  that  I  will  never  use  my  membership  in 
this  organization  for  any  end  not  sanctioned  by  its  mem 
bership.  That  I  will  obey  the  officers  of  the  organization 


32O  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

and  be  orderly  in  meetings,  and  by  my  daily  walk  in  life 
endeavor  to  so  live  that  I  shall  not  bring  discredit  upon 
the  order  or  upon  my  fellow  members.  If  I  should 
prove  unworthy  or  false  to  my  oath  of  allegiance,  may 
my  deceived  fellow  workers  mete  out  to  me  such  punish 
ment  as  they  deem  adequate  to  fit  my  treachery." 

"To  all  of  this  you  most  solemnly  pledge  yourself 
before  God  and  men." 

"I  do." 

"May  God  help  you,"  the  president's  voice  was  al 
most  a  sob. 

"Has  Farley  taken  the  oath  ?"  came  a  voice  from  the 
door  as  a  large  man  pushed  his  way  in. 

"He  has,"  the  president  answered. 

"Well,  he's  a  traitor  and  a  spy  ?"  the  big  man  shouted 
as  he  made  rapidly  for  the  front  of  the  hall. 

"Brother  this  is  an 

"Let  me  out  of  this!"  Farley  shrieked  and  struck 
viciously  at  the  guide  who  clung  to  him,  "Let  me  out, 
you  damned — "  he  thundered,  and  pulling  away  from 
the  guide,  made  a  dash  for  the  door.  Shaking  in  every 
fiber  of  his  body,  he  was  recaptured  and  half  led,  half 
dragged  before  the  presiding  officer. 

"This  is  a  most  serious  charge,  brother,  a  charge  of 
treason  coming  on  the  heels  of  your  most  solemn  oath," 
the  president's  voice  was  tense. 

"And  I  can  prove  it,"  the  big  man  declared,  puffing 
after  his  exertions. 

"Produce  your  proof,"  came  from  the  chair. 

"That's  easy ;  this  guy  who  calls  himself  Farley  isn't 
Farley  at  all.  He  is  one  of  those  Corporations'  Protec 
tive  something's  spies,  and  he  works  in  old  Holdon's 
plant,  and  we've  got  the  goods  on  him." 

"Brother,  is  this  true?"  the  president  asked. 

"True  or  not,  I'm  game.  You  run  me  into  a  regu 
lar  plant,  and  I've  got  to  take  my  medicine " 

He  got  no  further ;  the  president  shouted,  in  order  to 
be  heard — "The  committee  on  traitors  will  take  this 
worse  than  scat)  in  charge." 

Farley  broke  away  from  the  guide  and  struck  at  the 
first  man  who  attempted  to  lay  hands  upon  him,  but  five 
minutes  later  he  was  carried  out  of  the  'hall  unconscious. 

"Bring  in  the  next  candidate." 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  THE  SPIES  321 

And  again  at  the  proper  time,  the  big  man  at  the 
door  made  his  charge  of  treason  against  an  oath-bound 
member,  Who  thought  he  had  joined  the  moulders'  union, 
and  again  the  presiding  officer  called — "Bring  in  the  next 
candidate." 

In  the  end  three  men  had  gone  through  the  intitia- 
tion  and  of  the  three,  Farley  alone  showed  fight. 

Johnson  and  Jones  both  confessed,  begged,  promised 
and  pleaded,  yet  they  went  the  same  way.  From  the  al 
ley,  three  closed  carriages,  each  carrying  three  pas 
sengers,  issued  at  various  times  that  night  and  whirled 
away  into  the  maw  of  the  town. 

"A  labor  leader  overcome  with  eloquence,"  one  man 
said  to  another  at  the  alley's  moufh  as  two  men  carried 
a  third  to  the  waiting  carriage  and  bundled  him  in. 

"Or  rotgut,"  the  other  laughed. 

Price  sat  at  his  desk  the  next  morning,  busy  with  a 
refractory  thought  when  Moses  Webster  entered.  "Mr. 
Farley's  in  a  cab — says  he  can't  come  in,  and  wants  to 
see  you." 

"What?  Farley?    Isn't  he  working?" 

"Don't  look  like  it,"  Moses  admitted  aloud,  and  to 
himself  he  said :  "I  wonder  what  they  did  to  him  ?" 

"Farley!"  Price  went  white  when  he  saw  the  bat 
tered  spy  propped  up  in  a  corner  of  the  cab.  "In  the 
name  of  God,  man " 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  no  more  name  of  God  for  a 
year,"  Farley  interrupted  with  a  snarl.  "I  got  my  fill 
of  that  last  night." 

"But — but — man,  what's  the  matter  with  you?" 

"I've  been  eaten  up  and  spit  out,  that's  what's  the 
matter,  and  see  here" — he  loosened  his  suspenders  on  one 
side  and  pulling  his  clothing  apart,  disclosed  a  great  livid 
welt  upon  his  hip. 

Price  wide-eyed  and  disconcerted,  stood  silent. 

"Yes,  damn  them,  and  there's  another  just  like  it  on 
my  back.  I've  got  to  get  into  a  hospital  and  get  fixed 
up;  that's  why  I  am  here — I  want  money." 

"You  want  money  ?  Why,  man,  you  are  paid  by  the 
Protective." 

"That's  all  right,  but  I  need  it  now,  and  bad.  I  tell 
you  I'm  all  in.  Those  devils  almost  killed  me." 


322  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"Mr.  Price,  you  are  wanted  on  the  'phone.  Some 
hospital  says  a  man  there  claims  to  have  been  slugged  by 
union  men  and  says  you  will " 

Price  went  hastily  to  the  'phone.  When  he  returned, 
he  simply  asked  the  waiting  man  how  much  he  needed. 

"Oh,  a  hundred  will  see  me  started  all  right — and 
say,  Price — "  when  he  had  pocketed  the  money — "my 
advice  to  you  is  to  give  the  men  something  and  don't 
try  to  run  any  more  of  our  kind  in  on  them.  They  are 
the  wisest  bunch  I  ever  went  up  against.  I'll  write." 

Price  went  all  the  way  to  the  street  corner  and  stood 
staring  after  the  cab.  "Now  what  could  he  have  meant?" 
he  asked  himself  as  he  went  slowly  back  to  his  office. 
Mechanically,  he  picked  up  a  morning  paper.  A  two- 
column  scare-head  caught  his  eye  and  he  read : 

"MORE  UNION  SLUGGERS  IN  MURDEROUS  ATTACK. 


Three  Inoffensive  Citizens  in  as  Many  Districts  of  the  City 
Mercilessly  Beaten  While  on  their  Way  Home  from 
Downtown  District. 

At  midnight  W.  Y.  Farley,  a  machinist,  was  found  at  the 
back  door  of  a  saloon  on  Sixty-third  street  in  a  frightful  con 
dition.  As  near  as  could  be  gathered  from  his  disconnected 
story,  he  had  had  some  trouble  with  a  union  or  with  cer 
tain  members  of  it  some  time  ago,  and  had  all  but  forgotten 
it,  when  he  was  set  upon  by  a  dozen  men  somewhere  on  Hal- 
sted,  north  of  Sixty-third  street,  while  on  his  way  home.  He 
was  terribly  beaten  and  evidently  left  for  dead. 

The  second  case  is  more  atrocious,  if  that  be  possible.  A 
moulder,  who  refuses  to  give  his  name  for  fear  of  the  union's 
slugging  committee,  was  found  about  one  o'clock  this  morn 
ing  by  Policeman  Dooley  on  Clark,  near  Lincoln  Park.  He 
had  been  assaulted  on  Wells  street  while  going  quietly  home. 
Besides  numerous  bruises,  this  man  was  terribly  burned,  with 
acids,  it  is  thought.  At  the  county  hospital  he  gave  the  name 
of  one  of  our  leading  employers,  but  asked  that  no  mention 
be  made  of  the  case,  as  he  feared  for  his  life. 

The  third  case,  furnishing  substantial  proof  that  certain 
labor  organizations  of  this  city  are  banded  together  in  a  con 
spiracy  to  intimidate  or  murder  individual  workers  who  re 
fuse  to  be  cajoled  or  driven  into  the  unions,  comes  from  the 
west  side.  On  Madison  street  near  Western  avenue  a  belated 
pedestrian  stumbled  over  a  man  lying  at  the  entrance  to  a 
dark  alley.  An  alarm  was  given,  and  when  assistance  arrived 
the  victim  of  a  union's  vengeance  was  carried  to  a  drug  store 
and  revived.  His  story  is  materially  the  same  as  of  the  two 
quoted  above. 

A  hard-working  mechanic,  trying  to  earn  an  honest  living 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  THE  SPIES  323 

as  a  blacksmith,  is  approached  by  emissaries  of  the  black 
smiths'  union,  who,  it  seems,  are  preparing  to  compel  their 
employer  to  grant  certain  demands  or  have  his  busine:? 
wrecked. 

This  man,  who  desires  to  have  his  name  withheld  for  a 
time,  refused  to  listen  to  the  union  agitators,  and  was  point 
edly  told  that  yesterday  was  his  last  day  of  grace.  Laugh 
ingly,  he  informed  them  that  he  still  lived  in  a  free  country 
and  proposed  to  remain  free.  As  a  result  he  lies  bruised  and 
burned  in  the  Sisters'  Hospital,  and  his  family,  in  Cleveland, 
Ohio,  may  take  what  little  comfort  they  can  out  of  the  state 
ment  that  he  will  live." 

"So,  that's  how  it  panned  out,"  Price  said  aloud, 
after  reading  the  newspaper  report  of  the  "slugging." 
"They  must  have  been  a  bunch  of  dubs,  but  who  the 
devil  put  the  unions  next?" 

An  office  boy  stood  at  Price's  elbow. 

"Well,  what  now?" 

"Please  sir,  some  of  the  men  wants  to  see  you." 

"Well,  I'm  'here ;  show  them  in." 

And  in  they  came,  five  of  them,  led  by  a  big  burly 
fellow  from  one  of  the  forges  who  pulled  at  his  coat 
collar  and  cleared  his  throat  at  every  step.  The  dele 
gation  filed  into  the  office  and  arranged  themselves  in  a 
row,  each  looking  at  his  neighbor  for  encouragement 
and  finding  in  the  faces  of  his  fellows  an  equal  embar 
rassment,  driving  all  thought  of  a  fixed  purpose  from 
their  minds.  Price,  always  insolent  and  overbearing  with 
the  men,  eyed  this  delegation  with  open  contempt,  and 
they  felt  it  instinctively  rather  than  by  process  of  reason 
ing,  as  their  eyes  turned  from  time  to  time,  during  the 
leaden  moments  of  silence  to  his  sneering  face. 

"Well,  men,  what's  the  matter?    Have  you  struck?" 

"Hem,  hem,  you  tell  him  Smith,"  the  big  burly  man 
from  the  forge  turned  appealing  eyes  upon  a  little  thin- 
faced  fellow  at  the  end  of  the  line. 

"I  wasn't  elected  no  chairman  of  this  here  commit 
tee,"  Smith  protested. 

"Well,  men,  whichever  one  of  you  is  to  make  the 
spiel,  let's  have  it."  Price  grinned  sardonically  at  the 
foot-shuffling  group.  "I'd  ask  you  to  sit  down,  but  I'm 
in  a  hurry,"  he  explained. 

"Th'  men  did  'lect  me  chairman  an' — an'  I  had  some 
resolutions  as  has  bin  passed."  The  man  from  the 
forge  fumbled  in  his  pockets,  and  Price,  with  out- 


324  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

stretched  hand  and  snapping  fingers,  sat  square-jawed 
and  grim. 

"You  put  them  resolutions  in  your  hip  pocket,  Jim. 
I  seen  you,"  one  of  the  committee  ventured. 

"So  I  did,  so  I  did."  Jim  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief, 
as  he  pulled  out  the  document  in  question,  and  placed  it 
in  Price's  outstretched  palm. 

Price  tapped  the  papers  on  the  desk.  "Well,  men, 
say  it  and  get  out — what  else?" 

"Why,  just  this  here ;  we  gives  you  one  week  from  to 
day  to  make  up  your  mind  in,  an'  we'll  be  back  here 
for  an  answer,  that's  all." 

"What  do  you  want?  Don't  you  know  that  if  Hoi- 
don  was  here,  the  last  one  of  you  would  have  been  fired 
out  into  the  street  long  ago?  I've  put  up  with  you  and 
your  insolence  just  as  long  as  I'm  going  to."  He  got 
up  and  kicked  the  chairs  back.  "Now  get  out;  for  a 
cent  I'd  fire  the  whole  bunch." 

"Do  it,  do  it,  and  we'll  take  the  last  man  in  the  works 
out  with  us,"  the  big,  burly  man  from  the  forge  an 
nounced  with  a  meaning  shake  of  his  huge  labor  grimed 
fist,  having  found  'both  voice  and  control  of  his  other 
faculties  at  last,  "You  try  it  on,  Mister!"  he  taunted 
from  the  doorway.  "We'll  be  here  one  week  from  to 
day  for  our  answer  to  them  demands  and  if  you  ain't 
lookin'  for  trouble,  take  my  advice  and  consider  them 
serious." 

The  committee  could  be  seen  from  the  office  window, 
breaking  up  into  individual  units  and  so  making  itself  a 
part  of  the  great  labor  army  in  the  Holdon  plant. 

"Well,  I'll  be  literally—"  the  superintendent  com 
mented,  as  he  stood  watching  the  men  as  they  went  to 
their  several  shops.  "One  week,  one  week,"  and  turning 
to  the  desk,  he  stood  looking  at  the  thumb^marked  "de 
mands"  of  the  men. 

M'oses  Webster  entered  the  office  and  laid  a  telegram 
on  Price's  desk.  "Cabled  from  Bombay,"  was  his  terse 
comment  as  he  turned  to  leave  the  room.  Price  picked 
up  the  cipher  message,  and  gazed  at  it  speculatively  be 
fore  taking  up  Moses'  translation  just  beside  it. 

"Closed  contract  for  biggest  job  in  India.  Specifica 
tions  follow.  Rush  your  work. — Holdon." 

Price  read  it  and  sat  dawn  limply.     At  any  other 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  THE  SPIES  325 

time  he  would  have  rejoiced  that  the  job  they  had  fig- 
ired  on  for  two  years  had  been  safely  landed,  but  to 
day  the  news  of  this  success  carried  another  meaning. 
He  had  determined  to  bluff  it  out  with  the  men  when 
they  came  for  their  answer  the  next  week.  Now  in  the 
light  of  Holdon's  cable  to  rush  work,  he  couldn't  think 
of  inviting  a  strike.  An  hour  after  Price  had  been  made 
acquainted  with  the  contents  of  Holdon's  message,  the 
council  of  the  unions  was  also  possessed  of  the  news  and 
from  the  leaders  word  went  to  the  men  that  their  de 
mands  would  be  granted. 

"There's  only  one  thing  to  do,"  Yancey  told  Price  the 
day  before  the  committee  was  to  call  for  its  answer. 

"And  that " 

"And  that  is  to  grant  the  demands  of  the  men." 
Price  scowled  and  Yancey  hurried  on:  "They  ain't 
asking  much — only  to  be  put  back  on  the  old  basis,  with 
an  increase  of  about  3  per  cent  in  the  mechanical  de 
partments." 

"But  what  right  have  they  to  make  such  demands?" 

"The  right  organization  gives  them,  I  guess." 

"But  there  isn't  a  handful  of  them  that's  organ " 

"And  there  you  are  mistaken,"  Yancey  hastened  to 
correct  him.  "Practically  all  my  men  are  organized,  and 
they  are  my  best  mechanics  at  that." 

"Do  you,"  Price  turned  an  anxious  face  to  the  fore 
man,  "do  you  really  believe  they  would  strike  if  these 
demands  were  not  granted?" 

"As  sure  as  fate."  Yancey  answered,  and  enlarged 
upon  the  theme :  "You  see,  Mr.  Price,  the  men  have 
been  restless  since  you  changed  the  work  and  prices,  and 
that  spy  business  has  not  helped  matters  any.  Besides, 
they  have  gotten  it  into  their  heads  that  if  Holdon  was 
here  they  would  never  have  been  put  on  piece-work — in 
short,  that  he  does  not  know  of  the  changes  you  have 
made,  and  would  not  stand  for  them  if  he  did,  and  they 
have  not  been  slow  to  grasp  the  fact  that  if  this  is  the 
case  you  won't  dare  to  face  a  strike." 

Price  sat,  biting  his  lips,  while  Yancey  put  the  case 
thus  bluntly.  For  a  time  there  was  silence  after  the 
foreman  ceased  speaking,  then  Price  looked  up  to  say: 

"I'll  think  the  matter  over,  Yancey,  I   suppose  the 


326  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

committee  will  be  here  on  time/'  He  had  tried  hard  to 
smile,  'but  had  not  quite  succeeded  when  the  foreman 
left  the  office. 

It  proved  an  easy  victory  for  the  men.  Thursday 
was  the  day  set  for  the  committee  to  call  upon  the  superr 
intendent,  but  he  forestalled  them  by  having  notices 
posted  on  the  bulletin-board,  and  upon  all  the  shop  doors, 
to  the  effect  that  commencing  the  next  month  the  old 
system  of  work  would  prevail,  and  an  increase  of  two 
and  one-half  per  cent  in  wages  would  be  paid  from  that 
date. 

There  was  rejoicing  among  the  men  from  end  to  end 
of  the  great  plant.  It  is  needless  to  say  this  rejoicing  did 
not  reach  into  Price's  office.  That  gentleman  was 
cudgeling  his  wits  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  evolve  a  plan 
which  would  lead  him  to  the  discovery  of  the  "leak" 
through  which  the  unions  had  gotten  next  to  his  hired 
spies.  And,  although  he  failed,  he  still  hoped  to  get  in 
touch  with  some  worker  in  the  plant  who  would  be  able 
to  give  'him  the  right  "steer." 


PART  II. 

CHAPTER  I. 

A  DETECTIVE  STORY. 

"Will  he  some,  Mickey?"  The  speaker  looked  up 
from  her  work  upon  a  tiny  garment. 

"Yes,  missus,  he'll  come  fast  enough  dis  time." 

"What  did  you  write  him?"  she  demanded,  even  in 
her  distress,  jealous  that  any  one  should  have  more  pow 
er  over  the  man  than  she  possessed. 

"A  business  letter,  strictly,"  Mickey  answered  with 
out  looking  up  from  a  copy  of  the  "Old  Sleuth"  library. 

"Mickey,"  she  walked  over  to  him  and  put  her  hands 
upon  his  head  and  strove  to  make  him  look  at  her.  "You 
haven't  given  me  a  good,  square  look  since  you  wheedled 
me  into  moving  here,  and  you  are  always  looking  at  me 
when  you  think  I  don't  see  you.  Mickey,  you  know  my 
heart  is  breaking;  can  you  sit  by  and  see  me  suffer  day 
after  day  and  refuse  to  tell  me  if  you  know  anything 
about — about — about  things?"  Her  eyes  were  bright, 
a  dry  bright,  that  told  of  tears  spent  in  the  nights  that 
had  gone  before. 

Mickey  had  set  his  jaws  and  with  neck  stiffened  re 
sisted  her  effort  to  make  him  look  at  her.  He  knew  if 
his  eyes  ever  looked  into  hers  while  that  plea  was  on  her 
lips  he  would  surrender  and  the  whole  story  would  come 
out,  and  this  did  not  suit  his  purpose.  Finally  he  said : 

"Missus,  he's  a-comin'  this  week  sure,  an'  if  he 
leaves  youse  again,  an'  youse  kin  say  to  me,  'Mickey,  I 
don't  love  him  no  more  an*  T  won't  have  nothin'  t'  do 
with  him,'  I'll  tell  youse  everything  I  knows  an'  it's  a 
heap.  But,  you  must  promise  you  won't  say  nothin'  t' 
him  about  it." 

"I  will  not  promise  to  deceive  my  husband,"  she  pro 
tested. 

"Yer  husband?"    It  was  a  question. 
327 


328  MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

In  a  twinkling  Estella  was  on  her  knees  by  his 
side. 

"Oh,  Mickey!  Mickey!  I  thought  you  didn't 
know." 

"Missus,  don't,  don't,  youse'll  kill  me."  He  got  to 
his  feet.  "I  knows  it  all,  lady,  an'  I  hope  God  strikes 
me  dead  if  I  don't  wish  I'd  croaked  before  I  ever  seen 
Jo — ,  either  of  youse."  He  rushed  from  the  room 
and  left  Estella  upon  her  knees  by  his  chair. 

Mickey  was  sure  Joel  would  visit  Cairo  that  week. 
He  had  made  excuse  that  his  business  would  keep  him  in 
the  north  for  at  least  another  month  in  his  last  letter  to 
Estella.  Still,  Mickey  was  sure  he  would  write  and  tell 
her  he  would  arrive  that  week.  When  they  left  Michi 
gan  City  Mickey  had  three  hundred  and  fifteen  dollars, 
the  proceeds  of  the  furniture  sale,  and  the  two  hundred 
dollars  left  at  the  house  by  Joel. 

Mr.  James  Y.  Johnson  had  wired  Estella  on  a  Sat 
urday  to  give  possession  of  the  furniture  the  next  Mon 
day  and  go  to  No.  ,  Hendee  street,  Cairo,  111.,  and 

that  he  would  arrive  there  the  following  Tuesday. 

Arrived  at  Cairo,  mistress  and  servant  found  that 
Joel  had  wired  for  a  cottage  and  telegraphed  two  hun 
dred  dollars  to  the  real  estate  man  to  be  delivered  to 
Mrs.  James  Y.  Johnson.  Mickey,  with  an  eye  single  to 
the  future,  suggested  that  they  take  up  the  two  hundred 
dollars  at  the  real  estate  office  and  buy  as  little  furniture 
as  they  could  possibly  get  along  with,  and  save  the  money 
for  other  expenses.  Estella  agreed.  In  fact,  she  would 
have  agreed  to  anything  proposed  to  her  by  Mickey,  so 
completely  mystified  was  she  over  the  order  that  had 
come  to  her  to  move. 

Tuesday  came  and  went,  and  still  no  letter  for  her. 

Two  months  passed  and  Mickey  had  received  two 
letters  under  his  new  name,  while  she  had  received  but 
one,  enclosing  one  hundred  dollars  for  expenses.  She 
turned  the  money  over  to  Mickey  with  the  remark  that 
he  might  as  well  keep  it,  she  didn't  go  downtown  any 
way. 

When  nine  weeks  had  passed,  Estella  received  a  let 
ter,  and  ran  to  her  room  to  read  it.  Mickey,  standing 
at  the  dining  room  door,  heard  a  low  moan,  and  running 
in,  found  her  stretched  upon  the  floor  insensible.  He 


A  DETECTIVE  STORY  329 

gathered  her  up  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  and  cried 
over  her  as  he  put  her  on  the  bed.  Then  he  picked  up 
the  letter  and  hastened  to  a  neighbor's  to  get  help. 

While  the  women  worked  over  Estella,  he  read  Joel's 
letter.  The  sum  and  substance  of  it  was  that  business 
would  keep  him  away  another  month.  Couldn't  she  find 
another  man  to  amuse  herself  with,  or  was  she  too  far 
gone  for  that? 

One  of  the  women  came  out  of  Estella's  room,  look 
ed  curiously  at  Mickey  a  moment,  then  said: 

"Your  wife  ought  to  have  a  woman  with  her,  sir." 

"My  wife!  Why,  she  ain't  my  wife.  Her  man's  a 
swell  guy;  I'm  a'  errand  boy." 

The  woman  grinned  and  went  back.  But,  as  a  re 
sult  of  their  neighborly  interest,  Estella  had  a  servant 
girl,  black  as  coal  and  as  good  humored  as  a  pet  coon, 
duly  installed  the  next  day. 

That  night  as  Mickey  lay  thinking  of  the  misery 
he  had  seen  in  Estella's  eyes  as  he  sat  down  to  his  sup 
per,  he  decided  to  bring  Joel  to  Cairo  if  the  whole  heav 
ens  fell  as  soon  as  he  got  there. 

"I've  bin  a  lyin',  low-lived,  white-livered  whelp  ever 
since  I  took  dis  job,  an'  one  lie  more  or  less  ain't  a-goin' 
to  sink  th'  ship.  I'm  goin'  t'  write  him  first  thing  in  th' 
mornin'."  And  this  is  the  letter : 

Mr.  Manning,  care  Eagle  Club,  Chicago: 

Affectionly  yours; 

This  here  letter  gits  away  frum  me  when  I  haint  got  bud 
$11.00  and  no  sence,  an*  I  got  all  th'. money  yor  womming 
had  too. 

Captyn,  it  was  this  way.  i  got  too  tips  on  a  race  horse 
down  to  Memfies  what  was  to  run  thaer.  i  had  it  doped  out 
to  me  bi  a  fellow  wot  sayed  he  knowed,  an'  he  lyed.  Then  i 
backs  anothyre  pony  a  20  to  1  shoot  to  git  da  coin  back,  an' 
dammitt,  that  one  gits  blancketyd  to.  Say  we  got  to  have 
some  money  cause  we  can't  live  much  on  this  aire.  And  you 
wanter  come  rite  along  ith  the  money,  cause  i  got  somthynze 
i  must  tell  you  i  don't  dares  to  rite  it.  John  Williams, 
Yourse  treuley, 

Mickey  Dougherty. 

P.  s. — i  aint  foolisch.  Yo  must  come  this  hear  weak  er  i 
sells  da  furnisher  an'  we  comes  to  Chi. 

youse  trueley.  Mickey  Dougherty 

nix  John  Williams 

At  the  Eagle  Joel  sat  with  a  couple  of  congenial  com- 


330  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

panions  recounting  the  features  of  a  little  splurge  they 
had  engaged  in  the  night  before  at  Madam  Vaughn's, 
when  one  of  the  attaches  signalled  Joel,  who  shook  his 
head;  the  man  persisting,  Joel  got  up  and  went  over  to 
a  vacant  table  in  the  smoking  parlor.  There  the  man 
joined  him,  and  taking  Mickey's  letter  from  his  pocket, 
said: 

"Mr.  Holdon,  this  came  under  special  delivery,  as 
you  see,  so  you  will  excuse  me  for  interrupting  you." 

A  silver  dollar  was  Joel's  answer,  but  he  scowled 
frightfully  as  he  opened  the  envelope. 

When  he  had  mastered  the  contents  of  the  letter  we 
have  read,  he  sat  staring  ahead. 

"The  little  beggar,"  he  muttered.  "So  he  took  a 
whirl  with  the  ponies  and  is  broke.  He  says  Estella 
gave  him  all  her  money.  She  probably  lied  to  the  little 
runt,  but  after  all,  his  threat  that  he  will  sell  the  stuff 
they  have  and  come  to  Chicago  will  have  to  be  looked 
after.  I  was  a  fool  to  take  him  on  in  the  first  place.  He 
knows  too  much  about  my  people."  He  sat  silent,  biting 
his  nails  and  frowning.  "Yes,  we  might  as  well  have  it 
over  with.  I'll  run  down  and  give  Mickey  a  little  money, 
and  the  woman  enough  to  see  her  through  her  trouble. 
Then,  I'm  done  with  the  whole  business." 

He  rejoined  his  companions  and  seemed  as  free  of 
care,  did  this  man  with  money  enough  to  buy  twentieth 
century  indulgences  from  society,  as  men  felt  who  were 
once  able  to  buy  like  indulgences  from  a  ruling  church. 

Had  Mickey  gambled  on  the  races  and  lost?  Not  he; 
instead  he  had  established  quite  a  reputation  as  a  curb 
stone  broker,  who  would  take  a  watch  worth  ten  dollars, 
or  a  revolver  worth  five  dollars  for  a  week  or  two,  as 
security  for  a  small  sum  at  big  interest.  No,  he  had  not 
lost  money,  and  as  he  waited  the  coming  of  Joel,  his 
greatest  uneasiness  resulted  from  fear  that  Estella  would 
lose  confidence  in  him,  and  he  did  not  feel  that  he  could 
trust  her  with  his  secret. 

"When  he's  gone,  I'll  jest  tell  her  why  I  sent  fer  him. 
We  was  all  out  of  money,  'cause  I  lost  it,  but  I  won't 
lose  no  more.  An'  ef  she  wants  t'  lecture  me,  I  guess  I 
cud  stand  it.  Fac's  is,  I'd  give  anything  tj  see  her  get 
up  enough  ginger  t'  cuss  some  one  out  proper." 

When  Joel  reached  Cairo  the  second  day  after  he  re- 


A  DETECTIVE  STORY  33! 

ceived  Mickey's  letter,  he  went  to  a  hotel  and  from  there 
sent  a  negro  boy  with  a  verbal  message  to  the  cripple. 

"Wat's  dat,  boy?  Take  dat  mush  outin'  yer  chops 
an'  talk  'Mericain',  cain't  yer?" 

"Day's  a  gent,  name  of  Manning  to  de  hotel  wants 
powerful  bad  t'  see  you-all,  an'  him  sais  you-all  was  i" 
come  erlong  wid  me,"  the  boy  repeated. 

"The  gent  says  all  of  us  is  ter  come,  does  he?" 
Mickey  demanded,  wondering  why  he  wanted  Estella  to 
go  to  the  hotel. 

"No,  him  says  jus'  you-all  is  to  come,  an'  him  says 
not  fer  me  t'  tell  you-all  'fore  no  women  folkses." 

"That's  more  like  it,  me  -buck.  Jist  wait  till  I  gits 
ready,  will  youse?  Go  'round  th'  corner  an'  wait.  I'll 
be  there  in  a  jiffy." 

Mickey  ran  to  his  room  and  put  a  short  thirty-eight 
calibre  revolver  in  his  pocket,  then  hid  his  money  and 
started.  When  they  entered  the  hotel  lobby  Manning 
was  not  in  sight,  and  they  were  going  out  to  look  about 
when  the  clerk  called  them. 

"Looking  for  Mr.  Manning?" 

"Yep."  The  clerk  looked 'hard  at  the  twisted  little 
figure,  called  "Front"  and  motioned  the  visitors  to  fol 
low  the  bell  boy. 

"Well,  whose  there?"  Joel  demanded,  when  the  bell 
boy  knocked. 

"It's  me,  Mr.  John  Williams,"  Mickey  sang  out. 

Joel  opened  the  door,  but  only  scowled,  when  Mickey 
saluted  him  with  a  "Howdy,  Captain." 

Pulling  a  quarter  from  his  pocket,  Joel  handed  it  to 
the  negro  boy,  caught  Mickey  by  the  shoulder  and  pushed 
him  into  the  room. 

When  those  on  the  outside  had  started  down  the  hall, 
he  locked  the  door  and  put  the  key  into  his  pocket. 
Mickey  had  always  been  credited  with  having  a  grain  of 
"sand,"  for  each  atom  of  his  shrunken  body,  but  as  he 
looked  into  Joel's  eyes  when  he  turned  from  the  door  he 
felt  that  he  had  not  made  a  mistake  when  he  put  the  re 
volver  in  his  pocket. 

"Well,"  Joel  stood  silent  glaring  at  his  visitor. 

"Water's  deep  in  that  well,  ain't  it?  Youse  seem  to 
take  a  long  time  to  reach  bottom." 

"I  don't  want  any  lip  from  you,  my  man,  and " 


332  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"Don't  need  to  have  none:  jist  talk  biz;  I  hain't  in 
th'  well  business  nohow." 

"Say,  you  young  devil,  I've  a  notion  to  wring  your 
neck."  Joel  took  a  step  toward  the  cripple. 

"An'  again,  youse  has  a  notion  not  t'  do  it.  I  hain't 
wantin'  no  trouble  er  nothin',  but  it's  jist  as  I  told  youse 
in  me  letter.  We  got  to  have  some  of  th'  mazuma  t'  buy 
stuff  t'  live  on.  An'  I  thought  youse  wanted  me  to  keep 
youse  posted.  Calculate  I  am  goin'  t'  write  'bout  th'  two 
men  as  come  here  from  Chi  a-lookin'  up  'Steller?  Not 
me !  I  wants  to  see  youse,  so  we  kin  lay  our  plans." 

At  mention  of  men  who  were  on  his  trail,  Joel  turned 
a  sickish  white. 

"You  say  two  men  have  been  here  looking  for  her  ?" 
he  asked,  and  sat  down. 

"Yep,  they  went  to  Michigan  City  first,  an'  got  a 
description  of  youse  an'  th'  woman,  from  some  of  them 
old  pussies  as  got  t'  be  imitate  with  her,  and " 

"It's  the  detectives  her  people  hired  in  Chicago  to 
trace  her."  Joel  paced  up  and  down  the  room.  "When 
did  you  last  see  them?"  He  halted  in  front  of  his 
caller. 

"Why,  it  was  th'  day  afore  I  writ  to  youse.  I  was 
downtown  to  buy  some  things  an'  one  of  them  twigs  me. 
I  didn't  tumble  fer  a  while  an'  when  I  did,  it  was  too 
late.  He  jist  kept  to  my  heels  an'  I  knowed  ef  I  went 
t'  th'  house  he'd  shadow  the  crib  'till  he  got  his  lamps  on 
yer  woman.  Then  th'  game  wud  be  off.  So  what  does 
I  do  but  take  them  groceries  an'  go  most  t'  th'  other  end 
of  town,  an'  th'  first  big  house  I  comes  t'  I  goes  in  a 
gate  at  th'  side,  an'  when  he  couldn't  see  me  no  more,  I 
heaves  th'  stuff  over  a  fence  an'  takes  out  th'  back  way." 

"And  then?"    Joel  was  smiling. 

"Why,  Captain,  I  makes  me  git-away  an'  keeps 
mighty  close  till  after  I  gits  that  letter  off.  Then  I 
cusses  myself  fer  two  solid  hours  fer  bein'  th'  biggest 
fool  in  th'  state." 

"I  don't  see " 

"Youse  don't  see?  W'y  it's  plain  as  a  rummie's 
nose.  W'y,  s'pose  youse  ud  a-come  down  here  an'  them 
fly  cops  ud  a  spotted  youse — huh !" 

"Damn  it,  I  hadn't  thought  of  that,"  the  employer 
frowned. 


A  DETECTIVE   STORY  333 

"No,  ner  me,  but  I  puts  in  th'  most  of  the  day  a-think- 
in'  what  a  mess  I'd  got  youse  inter,  an'  I  says :  Th* 
captain  allus  hes  bin  square  as  a  box  with  youse,  Mickey, 
an'  this  ain't  no  time  to  be  runnin'  him  up  against  no 
plain  clothes  men,  an'  by  crimeny,  I  twigged  the  racket 
that  ud  send  'em  out  of  town  on  th'  double  quick." 

"Did  you  do  it,  Mickey,  did  you  ?"  Joel  fairly  beamed 
so  great  was  his  relief. 

"Yep,  an'  done  it  jist  as  easy.  Yisterday  mornin'  I 
comes  downtown  an*  waits  around  watchin'  fer  dem 
geezers.  Purty  soon,  I  sees  one  ov  'em  in  front  of  th' 
Planters  hotel.  I  watches  till  he  walks  t'  th'  corner, 
then  I  comes  up  behin'  him  an'  asks  him  jist  like  I'd 
never  seed  him  afore:  'Say,  mister,  could  youse  give  a 
cripple  somethin'  t'  do?'  Lord,  he  bit  quick.  'Sure 
thing/  says  he.  'come  t'  th'  hotel/  he  says.  Well,  we 
goes  down  there  an'  he  brings  me  up  t'  his  room,  an' 
telephones  t'  th'  clerk  to  send  out  somewheres  fer  his 
side  kick.  Say,  Captain,  he  was  most  as  well  pleased 
s'  ef  he'd  drawed  a  prize,  but  he  didn't  make  no  move  t' 
do  biz  till  his  partner  come.  Then  they  both  lit  in,  an' 
I  done  some  tall  lyin'.  They  asks  me  what  I  was  doin' 
yisterday.  W'y,  I  was  deliverin'  groceries,  special  order. 
How  long  I  bin  in  th'  town?  Most  six  weeks.  Did  X 
come  with  a  man — describin'  youse,  Captain — Yep." 

"You  didn't " 

"Wait,  Captain.  I  says  'yep/  'Was  der  a  lady?' 
'Yep.'  'Does  she  look  like  so  an'  so?'  'Yep/  again.  An' 
I  could  see  dem  geezers  a-winkin'  t'  one  another  an'  a- 
swellin'  up  t'  think  what  a  easy  mark  they'd  struck. 
'Well,  me  man/  says  one  of  'eni,  'where  are  they  now?' 
An'  right  there  I  does  th'  baby  act  fit  t'  split.  Sa'y,  I  kin 
go  on  th'  vaudivil  stage.  W'y,  them  fly  cops  jist  sets 
there  an'  says  goo-goo  words  like  they's  talkin'  t'  a  kid. 
'Tell  us  where  they  are  an*  we'll  see  'at  youse  gits 
enough  money  t'  go  back  t'  Chicago  on/  one  of  'em  tells 
me;  an'  I  tells  de  pinchers  youse  takes  de  gal  an'  skips 
t'  Atlantic,  Georgia,  a-leavin'  me  in  de  lurch  most  two 
weeks  ago." 

"You  didn't !  Glory,  but  you're  the  cheese,  Mickey." 
Joel  reached  out  a  hand  that  Mickey  pretended  not  to 
see. 


334  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"Sure,  I  did,  an'  after  a-doin'  all  dis,  you  hits  de  town 
an'  acks  like  youse  wants  t'  eat  me  up." 

"I'm  sorry,  sorry,  old  man."  Again  he  reached  out 
a  hand;  this  time  Mickey  saw  it,  shook  it,  and  shook  it 
quick. 

"And  they  hit  the  grit  ?" 

"Sure  Mike  !  I  watched  'em  till  they  got  their  tickets, 
seen  'em  on  th'  train,  then  I  looks  at  th'  ten  plunks  dey 
puts  up  fer  me  con  talk  an'  goes  home." 

"Say,  Mickey,  you're  a  jewel,  and  we  won't  quarrel 
if  you  did  lose  money  on  the  ponies."  Joel  was  in  the 
best  of  humor.  "I  had  intended  to  give  you  a  blowing 
up  and  send  word  to  Stell  to  go  to  the  devil,  but  if  her 
people  are  on  my  trail  I've  got  to  stay  in  the  game  until 
they  give  up.  Lord,  if  the  detectives  were  to  get  next 
to  me  it  would  cost  thousands  of  dollars  and  no  end  of 
trouble  to  get  clear.  You  did  the  right  thing,  Mickey, 
the  only  thing,  and  I'll  be  darned  if  I  can  understand 
how  you  thought  it  all  out." 

The  magnate's  son  paced  the  length  of  the  room, 
while  Mickey  sat  with  his  eyes  on  the  floor. 

"You'll  have  to  move  again,  Mickey,  and  this  time  I 
guess  you  better  go  to  Texas." 

"Texas?"  Mickey's  voice  came  from  his  shoes.  To 
him  Texas  was  just  on  the  other  side  of  the  world. 

"Yes,  there's  Dallas.  It's  a  fine  town,  and  only  about 
a  day's  ride  from  here.  Yes,  you'll  have  to  move.  I'll 
go  up  and  see  Estella,  and  tell  her  the  climate  will  suit 
her  better  there.  Come  on  !" 

Mickey  communed  with  himself  as  they  went  in  si 
lence  to  the  house. 

"So  we  goes  t'  Texas—  th'  skunk!  Well,  it's  me  as 
goes  wherever  she  does.  Ain't  she  most  educated  me 
—  w'y,  I  kin  almost  talk  United  States  now,  an'  I  kin  —  I 
wonder  if  kin  is  right  —  I  kin  write  somethin'  fierce.  An* 
when  it  comes  to  swear  words,  she's  jest  about  broke 
me  of  that.  W'y,  she  don't  need  only  t'  look  sorry,  an' 
I'm  dam  —  no,  I'm  doggoned  ef  I  don't  want  t'  go  jump 
in  th'  river.  I'll  go  t'  Texas,  but  not  less  th'  missus  says 


so." 


CHAPTER  II. 

JOEL  LEAVES   CAIRO. 

What  passed  between  Joel  and  the  woman  he  had 
so  grossly  betrayed,  beyond  the  scene  enacted  when  Es- 
tella  saw  them  as  they  entered  at  the  gate  and  with  a 
cry  of  glad  surprise  threw  herself  into  Joel's  arms,  to 
be  fairly  picked  up  and  carried  into  her  room,  Mickey 
never  knew.  He  saw  no  more  of  Estella  that  nigjht,  but 
he  had  a  business  talk  with  Joel,  who  instructed  him  to 
send  Estella  to  Dallas  within  a  day  or  two,  and  to  tell 
the  servant-girl  she  was  going  to  Chicago.  Then  he 
was  to  dispose  of  the  furniture  and  follow.  He  gave 
Mickey  the  name  of  a  Dallas  hotel,  and  after  handing 
him  two  hundred  dollars,  promised  to  send  him  as  much 
more  the  next  month. 

In  the  morning  Mickey  was  on  the  front  porch,  when 
he  heard  Estella  and  Joel  discussing  the  move  to  Dal 
las.  Joel  said  something  about  a  hospital,  and  Estella 
seemed  to  be  pleading  'with  him.  Finally,  Joel  gave  ut 
terance  to  an  oath,  and  again  asked  a  question.  Mickey 
strained  every  faculty  to  catch  her  reply,  but  he  had  lit 
tle  need  to  exert  himself,  the  reply  came  clear  and  true. 

"My  God,  my  God !  What  have  I  done?  You,  of  all 
men,  to  ask  me  to  do  this?"  Her  voice  was  raised,  al 
most  a  shriek.  "I  will  not!  I  will  not  kill  my  baby!" 
There  came  a  sound  as  of  a  dead  weight  falling,  hur 
ried  steps  from  the  dining  room,  and  Mickey  standing 
as  one  stunned  heard  Joel  cursing  in  the  hall  as  he 
halted  to  get  his  suit-case,  coat  and  hat.  Mickey  ran  in 
just  as  Joel  was  struggling  into  his  coat. 

"Get  that  wench  and  see  to  Stell,  she's  fainted.  I'm 
going.  Do  all  I've  told  you  and  I'll  -make  it  right  with 
you." 

He  rushed  out  of  the  house,  but  Mickey  was  on  his 
knees  beside  the  woman  he  loved  better  than  his  own 
life  before  Joel  had  reached  the  door. 

335 


336  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"Oh,  my  poor  Stella,  my  poor  Stella.  I'll  kill  him; 
I  will ;  so  help  me  God !  I'll  kill  him  ef  he  ever  touches 
youse  agin/5 

For  the  second  time  in  his  life,  he  kissed  her  lips  and 
hair,  then  left  her  to  find  the  girl,  who  had  gone  to  visit 
with  a  neighbor's  servant  a  few  minutes  before. 

"I'm  goin'  ter  give  her  a  chance  t'  hear  what  I've 
got  t'  say  jist  as  soon  as  s'he  comes  outen  it  sufficient," 
Mickey  said  to  himself  when  assured  that  Estella  was 
able  to  go  to  her  room.  And  he  further  promised  himself 
a  good  kicking  for  having  brought  Joel  to  the  house. 

"Gee,  but  he  wus  easy ;  an'  two  hundred  more  plunks 
t'  de  good,  an*  we  ain't  a-goin  t'  move,  not  immegeately. 
I  got  to  collect  on  my  capital  w'at  I've  loaned  out.  An* 
•them  niggers  an'  poor  whites  is  dead  easy  when  they  has 
a  sport  t'  deal  wid,"  was  his  comment  as  he  -went  down 
town  to  make  sure  that  Joel  had  gone. 

For  two  days,  Estella  kept  her  room  and  when  she 
did  appear,  the  third  day  after  Joel's  departure,  Mickey's 
eyes  took  on  a  hard,  cold  glaze  as  he  looked  at  her  wan 
face,  beautiful  even  in  it's  sadness.  She  sat  in  a  big 
rocker  by  the  window  and  motioned  him  to  bring  a  chair 
and  sit  by  her.  There  was  a  world  of  weariness  in  her 
voice  as  she  asked : 

"When  do  we  move  again,  Mickey?" 

"Not  till  youse  is  ready,"  he  answered. 
-  "But  didn't  J — ,  didn't  he  tell  you  something  about 
going  right  away?" 

"I  didn't  understan'  it  that  way,  'less  youse  wants 
t'  go." 

"Oh,  I  do  Mickey.  We  may  have  stayed  too  long 
now ;  they  may  come  back." 

"Who's  comin'  back,  lady?"  Mickey  was  frightened. 
He  thought  that  Estella  was  "seeing  things." 

"The  detectives,  the  men  my  people  hired  to  look 
for  me." 

Mickey's  eyes  widened.  His  relief  was  so  great,  he 
almost  laughed  aloud. 

"Who  told  yer  they  was  fly  cops  here  lookin'  fer 
youse?"  he  demanded. 

"He  did — he  told  me,  when  I  refused  to  move  again 
without  him,  he  told  me  I  could  either  do  that  or  let 
my  people  find  me." 


JOEL    LEAVES    CAIRO  337 

"It's  a  dirty,  low-lived  lie!"  Mickey  was  hammering 
the  window-sill  with  as  much  gusto  as  though  it  were 
the  head  of  Joel  Holdon. 

"A  lie,  Mickey?  Oh,  don't  say  he  deliberately  lied 
to  me,"  the  woman  pleaded. 

"It  wouldn't  be  th'  first  one,  would  it?"  he  demanded. 
"An'  fer  w'y  should  youse  be  frightened,  missus;  don't 
youse  want  yer  folks  t'  find  youse?"  The  question  was 
asked  in  all  honesty. 

"No!  No!  No!  Anything  tut  that,  anything  but 
that!" 

"Well,  I'll  be  dam —  'scuse  me  missus,  but  youse  lays 
it  over  enybody.  Say,  why  don't  youse  want  t'  see  yer 
people?" 

"Oh,  Mickey,  I  have  no  wedding  ring,  no  ring !"  At 
the  last  word,  she  seemed  to  grow  faint  and  struggled 
for  breath.  Mickey  bent  over  her. 

"Missus,  missus;  I'll  git  youse  a  weddin'  ring;  a 
nice,  big,  fat  one  like  they  has  in  'Chi'  in  th'  big  stores. 
Jist  youse  let  me  git  th'  size  of  your — which  one  is  it 
th'  guys  what  loves  -wimmen  puts  it  on  ?"  In  spite  of  her 
sorrow,  Estella  could  not  help  'but  smile  at  the  earnest 
face,  and  eloquent  eyes  of  her  esquire,  as  he  stood  by 
her  side  fitting  a  bit  of  paper  to  her  finger. 

"I'll  git  one  ef  it  costs  a  hundred."  he  declared.  "Ef 
that's  all  as  keeps  youse  from  a  wantin'  to*  see  yer  folks, 
it's  a-goin'  t'  be  fixed." 

For  a  long  time,  Estella  sat  with  her  'hand  upon  his 
arm,  debating  whether  or  not  to  open  the  eyes  of  this 
vassal  of  hers  to  that  part  of  the  moral  code  in  which  his 
education  had  been  neglected.  Finally,  she  turned  to 
him  with: 

"Mickey,  you  must  not  pay  too  much  for  my  wedding 
ring,  we  must  move  some  day  soon  and  we  can't  go 
without  money." 

"Don't  youse  git  t'  frettin'  'bout  money,  missus;  I 
got  five  hundred  dollars." 

"Five  hundred  dollars!"  Estella  exclaimed.  "Five 
hundred?  Why  he  told  me  you  had  gambled  all  your 
money  away,  and  all  I  gave  you!" 

"It  was  a  white-livered  lie  lady,  a  low-down  lie.  I'll 
tell  youse  jist  how  it  was.  Youse  see " 


338  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"No,  Mickey,  I  won't  hear  a  word.  Go  ami  buy  my 
wedding  ring,  then  we  will  talk  about  moving." 

"But,  missus,  I  want  t'  tell  youse  how  it  was." 

"And  I  cannot  listen  to  you,  Mickey,"  she  pro 
tested. 

As  he  stood  in  the  hall  getting  into  his  coat,  he  heard 
her  say :  "I  wonder  why  James  told  me  that — I  wonder 
why?" 

"Well,  Pll  be  literally  clawed  inter  shoestrings,  ef  T 
knows  what  good  she's  a-goin'  ter  git  outin'  a  weddin' 
ring.  Queer  idea  she's  got,  but,  by  crimeny,  I'd  git  her 
one  ef  it  took  th'  last  cent  in  the  house."  So  he  com 
muned  with  himself  on  the  way  down  town ;  and  get  the 
ring  he  did.  When  he  slipped  it  on  her  finger,  he  re 
membered  how  the  heroes  in  his  stories  always  kissed  the 
hand  of  the  lady  when  they  couldn't  do  any  better,  so 
Mickey  planted  a  good,  honest  smack  fair  on  the  back 
of  Estella's  hand,  then  bolted. 

For  a  week,  Estella  said  nothing  about  moving,  and 
Mickey  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  his  business  as 
a  curb-broker  was  not  to  be  disturbed,  when  he  was  in 
vited  to  a  conference. 

"Now,  Mickey,"  she  began.  "I  guess  we  better  be 
getting  ready  to  move.  In  fact,  we  should  have  started 
a  week  ago." 

"Youse  mean  it?"  His  surprise  was  only  too  evi 
dent.  "Youse  ain't  goin'  to  go  where  he  says,  to  Texas  ?" 

"Yes,  to  Texas." 

"But,  missus,  he  won't  never  go  away  down  there  t' 
see  youse  an'  he's  told  me " 

A  hand  was  placed  over  his  lips.  "Mickey,  Mickey, 
not  another  word.  I'm  going  to  give  him  another 
chance." 

Mickey  twisted  himself  free,  looked  up  into  her  face, 
radiant  with  a  new-born  hope. 

"Another  chanst,"  he  repeated  lamely. 

"Yes,  another  chance.  Mickey,  I'm  going  to  Dallas 
and  when  my  baby  comes,  I — I — "  Her  hand  went  up  to 
her  throat.  "I,  O  God!  I  must  believe  in  him  or  go 
mad.  Help  me,  Mickey,  help  me!"  His  arms,  like  the 
arms  of  a  great  ape,  went  out  and  held  her.  Something 
she  saw  in  his  eyes  frightened  her,  and  he,  quick  to  see, 
released  her  as  she  began  struggling.  "  'Scuse  me, 


JOEL    LEAVES    CAIRO  339 

missus,  I  jist  thought  youse  was  goin'  f  fall."  Then,  as 
she  sat  down,  he  hurried  on.  "I  kin  git  youse  away  ter- 
morrer,  an'  when  I  sells  th'  junk  an'  squares  everything 
up,  I'll  come  erlong.  An'  youse  jist  go  to  th'  hotel  an' 
stay  till  I  come.  We'll  look  fer  a  house  an'  a  good 
nigger  girl  soon  as  ever  I  gits  there." 

"Why  not  take  Nancy?" 

"Nixie,  Missus,  it  can't  be  did.  His  instructions 
wus  to  not  let  nobody  know  nothin'.  An'  I'm  to  tell 
Nancy  youse  goes  to  Chicago.  If  youse  is  boun'  to  give 
him  another  charist,  do  it  so  as  he  can't  have  a  word  to 
say  but  that  youse  did  what  he  says." 

"Oh,  Mickey,  I  don't  know  what  I  would  do  with 
out  you;  you  always  know  just  what  to  do.  Do  you 
think  I'll  ever  be  able  to  repay  you?" 

"I  don't  never  expect  notliin'  lady ;"  he  looked  at  her 
for  an  instant,  his  heart  in  his  eyes.  "It  won't  ever  be 
possible  fer  me  to  do  everythin'  I'd  like  to  fer  youse;  I 
won't  live  long  enough.  An'  lady,  they  ain't  no  pay  in 
this  world  fer  me.  Look  at  me !"  The  long  arms  were 
lifted  high  above  the  shrunken,  twisted  body  and  a 
pleading  face  turned  to  her.  "Look  lady ;  did  youse  ever 
think  that  I  might  be  like  other  men  inside  dis  here 
cracklin'  dey  left  me  t'  live  in  ?  Well,  I  is ;  an'  lady,  I 
knows  they's  nothin'  in  this  worl'  fer  me,  so  youse  need 
n't  worrit  none  'bout  payin'  me." 

He  was  gone,  a  poor,  little,  limping  figure  with 
bowed  head  passed  out  of  sight,  and  the  woman  who 
had  been  wholly  absorbed  in  her  own  sorrow  found  a 
mother's  love  welling  up  in  her  heart  for  this  one  of 
God's  children  who  had  been  grievously  sinned  against 
— was  being  sinned  against.  As  she  thought  more  of  his 
suffering,  her  own  occupied  just  that  much  less  of  her 
little  world,  and  it  was  largely  because  of  this  new  in 
terest  in  her  life  that  she  was  enabled  to  face  the  or 
deal  ahead  as  bravely  as  she  did. 

If  she  could  have  had  assurance  that  society  would 
accept  the  story  of  her  betrayal,  her  struggle,  her  pray 
er  and  final  surrender  as  a  badge  of  honor,  rather  than 
the  mark  of  sharfte;  if  she  had  not  known  that  all  the 
virtuous  women,  and  the  men  attached  to  them,  both 
married  and  single,  whether  virtuous  or  immoral,  would 
point  the  finger  of  scorn  at  her,  brand  her  with  the  "scar- 


34O  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

let  letter"  and  leave  her  to  rot  on  the  highway;  if  she 
had  not  known  this,  she  would  have  gone  to  her  mother, 
to  meet  her  first  and  greatest  trial,  hard  by  the  gates  of 
death.  But,  she  knew.  Oh,  you  dear  good  Christians  (?) 
what  did  she  know  ?  She  knew  that  unless  she  took  home 
with  her  a  man  to  whom  she  yielded  her  body  on  de 
mand,  and  offered  him  to  virtue  as  a  reason  for  her  con 
dition,  virtue  would  refuse  to  reason  at  all.  And  she, 
who  came  without  the  man,  regardless  of  the  wrongs 
man  had  done  her,  virtue  would  not  hear ;  for,  forsooth, 
without  the  man  she  must  be  unclean.  How  is  this, 
good  people?  If  a  pimple-faced,  disease-eaten,  siphi- 
lized  reprobate  shall  induce  a  woman  to  marry  him,  and 
she  'bring  this  disease-breeding  pimple  to  you,  my  virtu 
ous  friends,  and  say,  "This  is  my  husband,"  you  accept 
them  and  their  relations  and  call  them  virtuous ;  yet  are 
they  not  filthy  ? 

Estella  knew,  and  valued  the  wedding-ring  Mickey 
bought  her,  because  the  very  presence  of  that  circlet  of 
gold  upon  her  finger  would  satisfy  all  beholders  that  she 
had  a  right  as  a  wife  to  become  a  mother :  would  satisfy 
them,  so  long  as  she  might  be  able  to  ward  off  their 
friendship,  and  its  consequent  inquisitiveness, 


CHAPTER  III. 

CONCERNING  CHARLEY. 

Martin,  the  detective,  and  Price  met  at  lunch  one  day 
when  the  latter  had  all  but  given  up  hope  of  getting 
Charles  Harris  back. 

"You  remember  that  Harris  you  sent  me  to  hunt?" 
Martin  asked  casually,  over  the  cigars. 

"Yes,  certainly,  why?"  Price  was  all  animation  in  a 
moment. 

"Well,  he  wasn't  down  in  the  country,  never  had 
been,"  the  other  announced,  laconically. 

"You  reported  that,  I  believe." 

"Yes,  but  I  haven't  reported  that  I  found  him." 

"Found  him;  good  for  you."  Price  reached  out  a 
hand. 

"He  wants  him  mighty  bad.  Ought  to  be  some 
dough  in  this  for  Martin,"  the  detective  thought  as  he 
took  the  proffered  hand. 

"Well,  where  is  he?" 

"Down  the  line." 

"Can  you  get  him  up  here?" 

"Sure  thing,  but  it  will  cost  money,  and  have  to  be 
handled  diplomatically."  He  eyed  the  man  across  the 
table  narrowly  and  hazarded  a  guess.  "He  don't  love  you 
any,"  he  ventured. 

"No,"  Price  laughed.  "No,  I  suppose  not.  How 
much  will  it  take  to  get  him  up  here  for  an  interview?" 

"I  couldn't  promise  it  short  of  a  hundred  dollars." 

"How  much  for  expense  now?" 

"Fifty." 

"All  right.  Can  you  get  him  to-morrow?  Tell  him 
I  made  a  failure  of  my  machine  and  Holdon  is  willing 
to  put  up  money  to  develop  his  invention — that  will  bring- 
him  hot-foot." ' 

"No,  I  can't  go  until  next  week.    But  you  don't  need 

341 


342  MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

to  worry;  he's  perfectly  safe  where  he  is.     I  don't  be 
lieve  he's  got  money  enough  to  get  out  of  the  town." 

"That's  good,"  Price  commented  as  they  parted. 

While  Price  plotted  the  consummation  of  a  long  con 
templated  robbery  of  the  worker,  the  man  who  had  once 
had  a  "vision"  was  plodding  the  weary  way  most  labor 
ers  travel.  We  may  understand  him  better  if  we  read  a 
letter  written  home  shortly  after  he  located  in  Whiting, 
where  Martin  discovered  him. 

Whiting,  Ind.,  ,  19—. 

Dear  Mother — You  will  pardon  me,  won't  you,  for  not  writ 
ing  you  for  a  month,  when  I  tell  you  that  we  have  moved 
out  of  Chicago?  And  in  the  hurry  and  worry  of  moving, 
though  we  had  little  to  carry  with  us,  we  didn't  forget  you, 
only  waited  until  we  could  write  and  tell  you  that  we  had  a 
fixed  address  once  more. 

Mother,  I  know  your  first  question  will  be:  "Why  did  you 
move?"  So  I  am  going  to  answer  it  right  away.  I  had  to, 
mother,  mine.  I  could  not  go  on  working  at  a  job  where  all 
my  hopes  were  shipwrecked.  Besides,  there's  every  indica 
tion,  so  I  hear,  that  there  is  to  be  trouble  in  the  near  future 
between  the  Holdon  company  and  their  employes,  and  you 
know  I  want  to  keep  c^ear  of  that  sort  of  strife,  so  it  probably 
Is  just  as  well  that  I  am  not  there. 

Let's  see,  mother,  mine,  didn't  I  tell  you  in  one  of  my  late 
letters  that  I  had  hopes  of  getting  enough  money  ahead  this 
year  to  enable  me  to  get  my  moulding  machine  made  and 
patented?  Well,  mother,  dear,  my  dream  is  shattered.  An 
other  man,  a  man  with  money  and  plenty  of  business  ability, 
has  a  machine  under  way,  a  machine  like  mine,  and  it's  all 
up  with  me.  I  have  felt  sort  of  lost  since  I  found  it  out,  and 
at  first  I  was  mad  enough  to  have  killed  the  man  who  had  un 
wittingly  taken  so  much  out  of  my  life.  Of  course  it  was 
foolish,  mother,  but  I  did  feel  my  loss  so  keenly  that  I  be 
lieve  Mary  was  about  right  when  she  said  I  was  just  about 
crazy  for  a  couple  of  weeks.  Don't  be  alarmed,  sweet  mother; 
I  have  gotten  away  from  the  environment  and  am  back  to 
normal  again  and  digging  away  as  hard  as  ever,  but  with 
this  difference:  I  have  only  to  work  my  hands  now;  by  mind 
is  taking  a  sleep. 

Seriously,  mother,  I  am  alarmed  about  Mary.  She  haa 
never  been  the  same  since  our  baby  died,  and  each  letter  she 
gets  from  her  mother  seems  to  depress  her  more  and  more. 
I  can't  interfere;  you  know  I  have  not  been  on  good  terms 
with  Mrs.  Holcomb  s-nce  she  discovered  that  I  was  deter 
mined  to  bring  Mary  to  the  city.  Besides  this,  there's  the 
question  of  religion;  Mary  is  getting  more  and  more  like 
her  mother  in  this  respect  and  charges  all  our  trials  up  to 
our  sins,  and  gives  her  mother's  God  credit  for  putting  the 
mark  of  his  displeasure  upon  us.  Oh,  how  I  wish  we  could 
have  just  a  little  of  your  sweet  faith  in  our  home! 


CONCERNING   CHARLEY  343 

Do  you  know,  mother,  I  am  sorry,  now  that  it  is  too  late 
to  atone  in  any  other  way,  that  I  ever  made  light  of  your 
faith.  Somehow  I  seem  to  be  able  to  call  up  your  face  as  it 
used  to  look  when  I  treated  your  charity  work  lightly,  and 
I  am  sorry.  But  I  couldn't  measure  and  weigh  then  as  I  can 
now.  Oh,  mother,  mother,  a  wife  is  not  everything  unless 
,jhe  be  nine-tenths  mother  to  the  man.  Mary  is  good,  true, 
pure,  and  I  love  her.  But  you  will  never  need  to  be  jealous 
of  her.  Pshaw!  I  ought  not  to  write  such  things. 

We  are  settled  in  a  little  bit  of  a  cottage  down  back  of 
the  great  oil  plant,  where  I  found  work. 

Write  me,  care  of  general  delivery.  Guess  they  thought 
people  who  would  live  on  our  poor  street  did  not  need  num 
bers. 

I  did  one  mean  thing,  mother,  when  I  left  the  city.  I  ran 
away  from  Mickey  Dougherty;  you  remember  him,  the  little 
cripple  I  used  to  write  about.  Well,  I  ran  away  from  every 
body  there.  I  didn't  want  a  single  link  to  bind  me  to  the 
memory  of  my  struggle.  But  it  was  downright  cowardly  to 
treat  Mickey  as  I  did. 

Tell  father  I  am  hoping  that  money  matters  will  be  in 
such  shape  with  me  soon  that  I  may  be  able  to  send  you  a 
couple  of  tickets  to  Whiting.  Then,  when  you  get  here,  we 
will  spend  so  much  money  showing  you  the  big  town  up  the 
lake  that  it  will  keep  me  working  for  months  and  months  be 
fore  I  can  get  enough  scraped  together  to  send  you  home. 

When  you  go  to  sleep  to-night,  won't  you  give  me  one  of 
the  kisses  I  sometimes  felt  ashamed  of,  and  just  say,  "God 
bless  my  boy?"  We  love  you.  Charley. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THAT  VISION  AGAIN. 

"Hurrah,  Mary,  we're  going  back  to  Chicago  and 
my  machine  is  going  to  be  built  after  all!"  Charley, 
elated  after  his  interview  with  Martin,  bounded  into  the 
house  like  a  boy. 

"That  machine  again,  Charley,"  the  wife  complained. 
"I  thought  you  promised  me  never  to " 

"There,  there,  Mary/*  he  attempted  to  kiss  her,  but 
was  pushed  away. 

"None  of  your  trying  to  cozzen  me  into  going  back 
to  that  awful  city." 

"Mary,  Mary,  be  reasonable,"  he  pleaded.  "Be  rea 
sonable  ;  Chicago  is  no  more  a  door  to  the  bad  place  than 
Whiting  is;  and  besides,  Mary,  the  man  who  I  thought 
had  beaten  me  out  in  making  a  moulding  machine " 

"Didn't  you  promise  me?"  she  stood  before  him  with 
an  accusing  finger  uplifted.  "Didn't  you  promise  me  that 
you  wouldn't  mention  that  machine  again?" 

"Yes,  but  I  was  without  hope  then,"  he  protested. 

"Charley  Harris,  mother  was  right ;  that  machine  was 
born  of  the  devil,"  she  began  to  sob  hysterically. 

"But,  Mary,  listen  to  me.  Just  think  what  it  means 
if  I  can  get  this  machine " 

"Don't!  don't!  don't!"  she  screamed,  stamping  her 
foot,  and  Charley,  looking  at  her,  wondered,  rubbing  his 
hand  across  his  eyes,  he  looked  again.  "Was  she  really 
getting  to  look  as  well  as  act  like  her  mother?" 

"We  won't  say  any  more  about  it,  sweetheart,"  he 
told  her,  as  he  sat  at  the  table,  his  heart  heavy. 

The  next  morning  when  he  did  not  start  to  the  shop 
when  the  whistle  blew  its  ten  minute  summons,  his  wife 
eyed  him  coldly. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  asked. 

"Going  to  the  city,"  he  answered,  whistling. 

She  had  made  no  comment  and  lifted  a  pair  of 
344 


THAT  VISION  AGAIN  345 

straight,  tight-drawn  lips  to  meet  his  proffered  kiss 
when  he  was  ready  to  go. 

"Poor  little  girl;  between  that  old  she  imp  of  a 
mother  and  her  own  troubles  and  our  poverty,  she's  had 
a  hard  time  of  it ;  but,  she's  got  to  get  rid  of  the  notion 
that  devils  invent  machines  and  use  them  in  the  battle 
for  human  souls.  I'll  win  her  over  and  in  a  year  from 
now  she  won't  be  the  same  Mary/*' 

"It's  just  as  mother  said,"  Mary  thought  to  herself, 
as  she  hurried  with  her  little  housework.  "She  said 
from  the  start  that  the  devil  had  a  hand  in  the  building 
of  that  machine  and  would  own  any  one  that  had  any 
thing  to  do  with  it." 

Taking  a  letter  from  between  the  pages  of  the  family 
Bible  she  sat  down  in  the  midst  of  her  work  to  read 
again  the  last  word  she  had  had  from  her  mother.  > 

God's  chastening  hand  is  falling  heavily  upon  your  fa 
ther,  Mary.  He's  not  as  spry  as  he  was  last  year,  and  don't 
go  out  among  them  wicked  old  sinners  down  to  the  feed  store 
like  he  did.  But  he  is  gettin'  stiff-necked  again,  a  very  man 
of  wrath,  and  I  shudder  when  I  think  what  his  end  is  likely 
to  be.  But  you  know  I  done  my  best  to  bring  him  to  re 
pentance,  and  would  have,  too,  if  that  agent  of  Satan,  your 
baby-faced,  lyin',  deceivin'  husband  hadn't  come  between  us. 

I  told  you  jist  how  it  would  be;  he'd  either  drag  you  down 
into  a  heathen  life  with  him,  or  you'd  have  to  fight  for  your 
soul,  same  as  I  did.  I  warned  you  that  Sunday-made  contrap 
tion  of  his  was  nothing  but  the  works  of  the  devil  made  mani 
fest,  and  it  is  proved  true,  every  word  of  it.  You  wrote  me 
you  was  awful  distrest  when  your  baby  died.  Oh,  daughter, 
lift  up  your  eyes  to  the  Lord;  He  sent  it  upon  you  as  a  pun 
ishment  for  leaving  me  to  follow  after  a  heathen  and  his  gods 
of  wood  and  iron.  And  how  can  you  hope  for  the  love  of  God 
and  His  peace  while  you  live  with  a'  idolater;  and  Charley 
Harris  is  a  idolater.  Didn't  he  say  so?  Says  he:  "I  can 
see  God  in  my  machine,"  and  that's  idolatory.  When  you  are 
ready  to  fly  from  the  tents  of  the  wicked,  from  the  doorway 
to  hell  and  all  its  abominations,  and  that's  what  Chicago  is, 
write  to  me,  and  I  will  come  and  get  you  if  T  have  to  crawl. 
Your  mother,  Martha  Holcomb. 

Carefully  folding  the  letter,  she  replaced  it  in  the 
Bible. 

"He  can  choose  between  me  and  the  machine;  if  he 
chooses  the  machine,  I'm  going  home." 

Had  Charley  looked  in  upon  her  then  he  would  have 
been  further  shocked  at  the  growing  resemblance  to  the 
mother,  observable  in  his  wife  as  she  went  about  her 


346  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

work.  From  her  father,  Mrs.  Holcomb  had  inherited  a 
species  of  insanity  and  from  him  she  had  had  long  years 
of  training  in  its  culture.  Her  only  daughter  had  in 
herited  the  same  bent  of  mind  and  with  trouble,  death 
and  poverty  on  the  one  hand  and  an  openly  irreligious 
(in  any  dogmatic  sense)  husband  to  fill  out  the  measure 
of  her  limited  vision,  there  is  little  wonder  that  Mary 
Harris  put  the  narrowest  of  narrow  constructions  upon 
all  happenings  in  her  life,  and  charged  all  things  that 
brought  trial  to  the  agency  of  the  devil,  forgetting  the 
while  to  credit  God  with  anything  other  than  a  purpose 
to  let  this  same  devil  have  his  own  sweet  -will. 

"Come  and  get  me;  I'm  ready  to  go  home/' 

This  laconic  message  was  sent  on  its  way  the  morning 
after  Charley's  visit  to  the  city.  And  he,  thinking  his 
wife's  silence  argued  that  he  had  convinced  her  that  it 
was  folly  to  fly  in  the  face  of  a  Providence  that  offered 
to  shower  blessings  upon  them,  went  to  his  work  with  all 
the  enthusiasm  of  youth  pulsing  through  his  body.  He 
would  give  them  notice  to  put  another  man  in  his  place 
by  the  end  of  the  week  at  farthest. 

Better  begin  to  pack  up,  Mary ;  we'll  move  next  Mon 
day.  I  rented  a  cottage  about  four  blocks  east  of  where 
we  lived ;  got  it  from  the  same  agent." 

"I  don't  feel  able  to  pack  to-day,"  she  had  answered, 
and  he  went  to  his  work,  wondering  if  Mary  was  going 
to  be  sick. 

He  had  never  known  her  in  but  two  stages,  ready 
for  all  the  work  in  sight,  or  ready  for  bed.  The  next 
day  it  was  the  same  with  her;  she  couldn't  pack.  He 
busied  himself  with  odds  and  ends  after  supper,  while 
she  sat  listlessly  rocking,  rocking,  rocking. 

"Something  wrong  with  the  girl;  I  never  saw  her 
that  way,"  he  commented,  as  he  stopped  work  to  look 
at  her. 

"I  get  off  at  noon  to-morrow,  Mary,"  he  told  her  that 
night.  "The  new  man  came,  and  if  you  are  not  feeling 
well,  you  don't  need  to  touch  a  thing.  This  is  Friday, 
and  by  Monday  I  can  get  everything  in  shape." 

When  he  returned  at  noon,  a  free  man,  he  found  the 
house  in  disorder,  doors  open  and  the  breakfast  dishes 
still  on  the  table. 

"Mary's  sick/'  was  his  first  thought ;  but,  an  examina- 


THAT  VISION  AGAIN  347 

tion  of  their  rooms  told-  him  another  story.  "She's  gone, 
gone  without  a  word."  He  ran  from  room  to  room ;  then 
up  and  down  the  length  of  the  lot.  A  neighbor  stuck 
her  head  out  of  a  side  window. 

"Looking  fer  yer  wife?" 

"Yes,  yes,  where  is  she?" 

"I  thought  so;  didn't  I  tell  you?" 

He  stood  mute  watching  the  neighbor  turn  to  some 
one  in  the  room  behind  her ;  then  she  appeared  again. 

"An  old  lady  came  with  an  expressman  'bout  eight 
o'clock,  and  they  hustled  two  trunks  into  the  wagon  and 
drove  off/' 

Another  head  appeared  at  the  window. 

"Rather  suddent,  wasn't  it?"  the  last  comer  inquired, 
and  Charley,  without  a  word  turned  back  to  his  deserted 
home. 

"You  fool,  what/d  you  want  to  put  your  lip  in  for; 
you  spoiled  it  all." 

"I  didn't  neither,  he  was  goin'  anyway." 

"He  wasn't — he'd  a-told  me  all  about  it  if  you  hadn't 
butted  in." 

Charley  Harris  sat  brooding  over  this  new  calamity 
for  an  hour.  As  he  reviewed  his  life  from  the  day  he 
had  determined  to  win  Mary  Holcomb's  love  to  the  pres 
ent  hour,  he  found  but  one  flaw  in  his  conduct  toward 
the  woman  who  had  left  his  home  without  a  word.  He 
told  himself,  over  and  over  again,  that  if  he  had  not  car 
ried  his  troubles  home  with  him,  if  he  had  only  loved 
her  more,  this  thing  would  not  have  befallen  him.  Yet, 
as  he  thought  of  those  last  days,  a  picture  of  Martha  Hoi- 
comb  in  the  body  of  her  daughter  haunted  him,  and  to 
be  rid  of  it,  he  plunged  into  the  labor  of  packing  his  be 
longings.  While  at  work  he  determined  to  move  to  the 
cottage  he  had  rented  and  also  to  send  his  new  address  to 
his  wife.  If  she  wanted  to  return,  the  door  would  be 
open  and  his  heart  as  well.  In  the  meantime,  he  would 
work  night  and  day  on  the  machine ;  that  would  help  him 
to  forget. 

So  it  happened  that  the  next  Monday  found  him  in 
stalling  his  household  effects  in  a  south  side  cottage, 
while  his  wife,  in  her  father's  home,  sat  staring  dry-eyed 
at  the  sheet  of  paper  on  which  he  had  written  the  new 
address. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  SPASM  OF  VIRTUE. 

Snively  sat  with  Pagan  and  Hilman  in  a  back  room, 
over  the  latter's  saloon,  policy  shop,  gambling  house 
and  free-and-easy.  Pagan  was  biting  her  nails,  while 
Hilman  made  Rome  howl.  Pagan  had  had  her  say,  and 
had  said  it  was  the  last  word,  but  when  Hilman,  red  and 
blinking,  uttered  his  plaintive  whimper,  "Well,  if  we 
have  to  get  the  'money — well,  I  won't  put  up  again  after 
this  time,  that's  flat!"  Pagan  got  up  and  shook  a 
clinched  fist  at  the  cowering  Dutchman. 

"That's  a  'man  all  over.  Blow  and  bluster  and  damn 
•things  blue  and  then  turn  around  and  whimper  like  a 
whipped  pup.  You  make  me  sick!" 

Snively  looked  up  and  grinned. 

"That's  right,  grin,  you  lying  blackmailer.  You 
know  I  don't  dare  to  hurt  you,  or  I'd  take  you  by  the 
throat,  even  if  I  am  a  woman,  and  choke  the  last  grin 
out  of  you." 

She  turned  to  Hilman  again.  "You  are  the  beauty 
I  want  to  talk  to.  Here  this  go-between,  Snively,  who 
has  had  many  a  good  job  from  me,  comes  and  demands 
that  I  put  up  one  thousand  dollars  to  keep  my  joints 
from  being  pulled  in  the  raid  the  goo-goos  are  planning. 

And  you,  you  big  slob "  the  Dutchman  did  have 

manhood  enough  to  cringe — "you  told  me  a  month  ago 
to  come  to  you  if  they  tried  to  hold  me  up  again  for 
more  than  the  monthly  'touch'  and  you'd  help  me." 

"But,  my  God,  woman,  I  have  lost  my  pull,  and  it  is 
two  thousand  dollars  they  want  from  me."  He  was  red- 
faced  and  panting. 

"Two  thousand  devils!"  Pagan  screamed.  "You  have 
money  enough,  why  don't  you  fight?" 

"We  have  money  enough  to  fight  some  peoples,  but 
not  that  bunch  of  grafters." 

"Don't  you  think  it  will  be  just  as  well  in  the  end  if 
348 


A  SPASM  OF  VIRTUE  349 

you  two  give  -me  your  promise  to  pay?  You're  up 
against  it.  They  can  force  you  to  pay  or  quit  business." 
This  was  Snively's  advice,  mildly  given. 

"But,  I  tell  you,  I  can't  and  won't  pay  it."  Pagan 
persisted. 

"But  suppose  a  couple  of  countrymen  were  sent 
down  to  your  place  next  week  and  you  could  clear  up  a 
couple  of  thousand  on  them.  You'd  do  it,  wouldn't  you? 
And  especially  if  I  send  a  man  to  you,  who  will  as 
sure  you  that,  whatever  happens  to  the  guys  we  send 
down,  you'll  be  protected?" 

Pagan  got  up,  buttoned  her  coat  and  went  to  the 
door;  both  men  followed  her  with  their  eyes.  At  the 
door  s'he  turned  with:  "I'd  kill  any  man  on  earth  for 
one  thousand  dollars.  Send  them  along.  Some  day  I 
may  kill  a  couple  for  a  whole  lot  less." 

"That  woman  is  a  devil,  Mr.  Snively.  She  is  a 
devil,"  'was  Hilman's  compliment. 

Snively  laughed  and  asked:  "How  about  our  end 
of  it,  August?" 

"I  told  you  I  can't  pay  no  such  money." 

"Let's  say  that  I  agree  to  send  enough  customers 
here  from  the  houses  that  will  be  raided  to  make  up  to 
you  your  two  thousand  dollars." 

"Now,  that's  more  like  business;  sure,  I'll  put  up. 
Why  didn't  you  tell  me  that  at  first?" 

"I  wanted  to  see  the  fun.  You  see,  I've  not  had 
much  excitement  to-day,  and  I  knew  from  past  experi 
ence  that  if  I  got  you  and  Pagan  together  and  tried  to 
make  a  'touch'  there  would  be  excitement,  and  I  needed 
the  music,  see?"  Snively's  eyes  danced  as  he  explained. 

Now  that  Hilman  knew  himself  to  be  in  the  good 
graces  of  the  syndicate,  he  felt  a  load  lifted  from  his 
mind,  and  still  smiling,  asked :  "Who's  behind  this  raid, 
Snively?  I  haven't  seen  nothing  about  it  in  the  papers." 

"No,  and  you  won't  see  anything  for  a  couple  of 
weeks.  Our  people  are  organizing  this  raid,  in  anticipa 
tion  of  the  annual  opening  of  the  gospel  mills." 

"What !  you  helping  them  preacher  sharps  ?" 

Snively's  lips  curled  in  scorn.  "You  don't  mean  to 
tell  me  you  ain't  'on'  and  you  in  business  all  these  years." 

"I  ain't  'on'  to  a  damned  thing  but  this,  Snively," 
Hilman  retorted  hotly,  resenting  his  visitor's  open 


35O  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

sneer,  "That  through  your  representin'  our  side  and 
Sullivan  representin'  the  city,  I'm  held  up  every  year 
for  more  and  more  of  the  profits  of  the  business ;  and  I 
ain't  going  to  stand  it  much  longer."  He  brought  his 
big  fist  down  with  a  bang  that  made  the  glasses  sing. 

Snively  put  his  feet  upon  the  table,  lit  a  cigar  and 
smiled  at  the  ceiling,  as  he  said :  "Funny  thing  how  you 
fellers  that  don't  know  the  game  squeal  when  you  have 
to  put  something  into  the  kitty/' 

"Well,  if  you  have  no  objection,  I'd  like  to  know 
why  I  have  to  feed  two  kitties?"  Hilman  had  lost  his 
smile. 

"No  objection  in  the  world,  Hilman.  Facts  are,  I 
•want  to  tell  you.  It  will  keep  you  out  of  trouble;  and 
some  day  you  may  feel  like  reciprocating."  At  an  en 
couraging  nod  from  the  host,  he  went  on.  "First  off, 
there's  two  sides  to  every  question,  some  have  three 
sides,  and  others  have  four.  This  business  has  four 
sides;  the  politicians,  and  the  property-owners  is  one 
side;  gospel  sharps  and  goo-goos  makes  another;  that's 
two.  The  big  gamblers,  sportin'  houses  and  policy 
kings  makes  another;  that's  three.  The  pikers,  porch- 
climbers  and  street  walkers  makes  the  fourth.  Now  you 
see  all  the  cards  in  the  deck  and  with  your  kind  permis 
sion,  I'm  going  to  shuffle  them."  Hilman  nodded. 
"Well,  every  so  often,  we've  got  to  have  a  spasm,  a  reg 
ular  goo-goo  camp  meetin'  when  all  the  papers  hot- foot 
it  after  the  politicians  and  demand  a  clean  town  with 
the  lid  screwed  on.  Before  we  got  organized,  there  was 
nothin'  to  it  but  hell  to  pay  and  the  fiddler  gone  with 
the  dough,  when  the  goo-goos  got  ready  to  shake  us 
down.  Why,  man,  when  we  didn't  have  lawyers  hired 
by  the  year — didn't  have  no  straw  bonds,  no  detectives, 
an'  no  notice  of  them  spasms,  there  wasn't  no  one  to  give 
even  a  square  sport  a  show  for  his  coin.  Then  we  got 
pinched  and  ticketed  straight  thrqwgk,  and  the  mollies 
contributed  regularly  to  the  education  of  the  goo-goo's 
children.  But  since  we  got  our  side  organized,  and  own 
some  smart  legal  sharps,  there  ain't  nothin'  to  it.  We 
just  wear  the  goo-goos  out  in  court  by  practicin'  up-to- 
date  law,  and  the  mollies  only  has  to  contribute  to  the 
edification  of  the  politicians.  Now,  the  gospel  sharps 
and  good  citizens  can't  be  fighting  all  the  other  sides  at 


A  SPASM   OF  VIRTUE  351 

once  and  all  the  time,  so  they  takes  it  in  spasms.  And 
we  have  it  doped  out  to  us,  by  side  number  one — that 
half  belongs  to  us— that  the  good  people  are  getting 
ready  to  throw  another  fit;  that  they've  opened  up  the 
gospel  mills  for  the  regular  revival  campaign  against  the 
devil  and  all  his  works." 

Hilman  roared.  Snively  surveyed  his  audience 
closely. 

"You  seem  to  enjoy  being  touched,"  he  observed. 

"What,  me  ?    Not  much !" 

"Well,  I  thought  you  did,  the  way  you  laughed  when 
I  said  they  were  going  to  throw  another  fit."  He 
paused,  but,  as  Hilman  was  all  attention,  went  on.  "It's 
their  fit  that's  costing  you  two  thousand  bones,  my  duck. 
You  see  they  are  bringing  in  ex-thugs,  ex-ball-artists, 
ex-horsethieves,  ex-gamblers,  ex-mollies  and  ex-anything 
else  that  can  carry  a  tune  across  the  street  in  a  basket 
or  exhort  them  in  the  real,  old  blowed-in-the-bottle  fash 
ion.  And  for  a  month  there'll  be  hell  let  loose  on  the 
awful  sin  of  being  a  sport.  When  the  people  that  makes 
up  side  number  one  gets  wise  to  the  fact  that  the  spasm's 
comin',  why,  they  tips  it  off  to  side  number  three;  that 
in  order  to  hold  the  vote  of  the  'goo-goos'  at  the  next 
city  election  there's  got  to  be  a  crusade  against  side  num 
ber  four  just  as  soon  as  them  sky-pilots  calls  for  it.  And 
there  you  are." 

"But  I  don't  see  yet  where  my  two  thousand  dollars 
goes  to,"  Hilman  objected. 

"You  don't?  WTell,  I'll  be  teetotally — say,  you  ain't 
a  'mutt'  are  you?  Why,  it's  plain.  Here's  us;  if  them 
goo-goos  was  to  get  the  action  they  wants  wouldn't  it 
wipe  us  off  the  map  ?"  An  affirmative  nod.  "Well,  then, 
if  we  own  half  the  politicians  (and  it  costs  money  to  own 
a  politician,  and  you  ought  to  know  it),  and  a  lot  of  the 
property-owners  and  some  of  the  business  men  are  milk 
ing  us  of  good  money  on  rents  and  other  things,  don't  it 
stand  to  reason  that  they  won't  want  to  kill  a  good 
thing?  Besides,  there's  lawyers,  detectives,  bondsmen, 
coppers,  and  God  only  knows  how  many  more  to  pay. 
Now  Hilman" — Snively  took  his  feet  from  the  table  and 
looked  his  host  straight  in  the  eyes — "who's  going  to  put 
up  the  dough  to  square  things  with  them  as  has  to  be 
bought?  And  in  the  natural  course  of  events,  who's 


352  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

going  to  be  raided  and  have  their  layouts  smashed  ?    You 
see,  Hilman,  the  good  tribe  are  not  going  to  come  out  of 
their  spasm  until  they  see  some  several  dray  loads  of 
junk  taken  in  a  raid,  and  they  won't  quit  pray  in'  for  the 
wrath  of  God  to  take  a  whack  at  the  town  until  two  or 
three  hundred  suckers  and  a  lot  of  cheap  mollies  are 
hauled  before  the  law  sharks.    Well,  when  they  sees  this 
they  throws  up  their  hands  and  shouts,  hallelujah,  and 
comes  out  of  it  and  shakes  hands  all  around,  telling  each 
other  what  a  great  work  they've  done.    But  say,  I  could 
fell  them  suckers  something.     My  advice  to  you,  Hil 
man,  is  to  get  in  out  of  the  cold  again.    We'll  take  you 
in,  and  then,  if  we  ever  have  to  let  them  raid  your  place, 
you'll  have  the  best  lawyer  we  can  find,  and  get  paid  for 
everything  the  police  either  swipes  or  breaks." 
"I'm  in,  all  right,  and  thank  you,  Snively." 
"Oh,  that's  all  right.    Your  place  is  big  enough  and 
your  business,  too.    It  won't  pay  you  to  stay  out  of  the 
organization." 

Amid  Hilman's  protestations  of  friendship  and  a 
desire  to  do  something  substantial  for  his  friend,  Snive 
ly  departed.  Hilman  watched  the  receding  figure  a 
minute,  then  went  back  to  his  den  to  ponder  over  the 
revelation  that  had  come  to  him. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE  MILL  OF  THE  GODS — STOPS. 

Beatrice  Holdon  sat  in  her  splendid  home  on 

avenue,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  a  tardy  lover,  and  the 
while  Wetherby  lounged  in  the  card  room  of  the  Eagle. 

"By  the  fumes,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  most  forgot  my 
appointment  with  Miss  Holdon." 

"Going  in  for  some  'of  that  sunny-faced  old  sin 
ner's  pile,  are  you?" 

"Say,  Gardner,  don't  you  know  I  don't  like  the  tone 
of  voice  you  use  when  you  mention  Pater  Holdon.  You 
don't  mean  to  insinuate  that  my  future  father-in-law  is 
a  bit  of  a  rogue,  do  you  ?" 

Gardner,  with  a  front  of  Jove,  handsome,  hard  and 
polished,  smiled  cynically  as  he  put  two  hands  upon 
Wetherby's  shoulders. 

"Never  mind  the  old  rogue  elephant  to-day,  Wether 
by.  Just  center  your  energies  in  loving  the  daughter; 
when  you  get  her  and  need  to  know  something  that  -will 
open  the  Holdon  treasure  box  to  you,  should  the  Hon. 
Horace  prove  a  bit  close,  come  to  me." 

"Say,  Gardner,"  C.  Augustus  pulled  away  from  the 
detaining  hands,  "I  don't  half  like  the  look  in  your  eyes, 
and  I  don't  mind  telling  you  I  don't  like  the  insinuation, 
but " 

"But,  let  me  finish  it  for  you,  old  man."  Gardner 
touched  the  1)611.  "If  what  I  know  will  serve  you  when 
the  first  golden  shower  has  been  assimilated,  come  to  me 
and  I  will  engage  to  give  you  the  combinaition  to  Hoi- 
don's  chest.  But  now  you  surely  must  go.  The  fair 
one  should  not  be  robbed  altogether;  that  will  come 
later." 

"You're  a  devil,  Gardner,"  C.  Augustus  declared  as 
he  took  his  hat,  cane  and  gloves  and  turned  to  the  door. 
At  the  portal,  he  .turned  back.  "I  say,  Gardner,  don't 

353 


354  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

forget  that  you  promised  to  finance  that  little  trip  down 
to  Pluto's  Place  for  the  twentieth  of  next  month?'' 

When  Wetherby  had  gone,  Gardner  turned  his  eyes 
from  the  ornate  portal,  saying :  "I"m  going  to  my  room, 
George,  don't  bother  me  until  dinner  is  served." 

Sitting  in  a  great  arm-chair  before  a  toy  grate,  con 
suming  gas,  while  stolid  iron  pipes  hidden  away  in  elabo 
rate  trimmings  supplied  adequate  heat,  Jim  Gardner, 
shrunken  to  the  size  his  own  estimation  placed  upon 
his  present  worth,  thus  questioned  himself: 

"Jim,  I  want  you  to  take  a  good  look  in  at  your  stock 
of  chips  and  set  your  hold-out  for  this  game.  Yes,  the 
stakes  are  high.  C.  Augustus  Wetherby,  big  family,  mil 
lions  behind  that  name,  and  clean  people,  too;  different 
on  the  Holdon  end.  I've  got  Holdon  dead  to  rights,  and 
the  best  of  it  is,  he  doesn't  know  it.  And  C.  Augustus, 
once  married,  will  be  a  mint.  But  wait  a  minute,  Jim ; 
is  the  game  worth  the  ante?  To  play  this  hand,  Hoi- 
don's  daughter,  who  is  a  clean-limbed  little  filly,  must  be 
sacrificed  for  the  stake.  Wetherby's  family,  although  they 
have  millions  and  unlimited  opportunities  to  do  worse 
that  take  their  revenues  from  legitimate  business,  are 
clean.  They  must  be  made  to  suffer,  and  they  will  suf 
fer.  C.  Augustus,  well,  he  wouldn't  make  good  dog 
meat  anyway.  When  I  play  with  him — the  little  'brag 
gart — he  makes  me  think  of  the  woman  who  wrote,  'The 
more  I  see  of  men,  the  better  I  like  dogs' — and  he  don't 
count.  Do  I  need  to  do  this  thing?  That's  the  ques 
tion."  Huddled  in  the  depths  of  the  great  arm-chair, 
Jim  Gardner  reviewed  the  heavy  penalties  he  had  suffered, 
the  added  weight  he  had  carried  in  the  race,  the  purse 
hung  up,  being  a  place,  food,  clothing,  shelter,  and  recre 
ation  in  civilized  society.  While  the  clock,  held  aloft  by 
a  Grecian  maiden  in  antique  bronze,  ticked  off  the  min 
utes  on  the  mantel  above  the  grate,  the  man  beneath 
checked  off  the  years  of  his  soul-eating  struggle  and 
winced  and  winced  again,  as  crucial  scenes  on  the  film 
of  life  played  before  his  vision.  His  hands,  lying  loose 
ly  on  the  arms  of  the  chair,  suddenly  clutched  the  great 
leather  tufts,  his  eyes  grew  hard  and  his  figure  straight 
ened.  Ah!  There  he  had  been  hit  hard.  There  had 
been  a  day  in  his  life  when,  had  he  taken  the  other  side 
of  the  street  and  met  other  than  the  men  and  women  he 


THE  MILLS  OF  THE  GODS STOPS          355 

did  meet,  Jim  Gardner  would  have  been  far  from  the 
depths  of  this  chair  to-day. 

For  a  moment  his  hand  passed  nervously  over  his 
brow;  the  cold  gleam  of  diamonds,  those  'bits  of  hell- 
heated  carbon  for  which  women  exchange  -their  virtue 
and  men,  strong  men,  struggle  like  wolves,  glinted  on  the 
polished  face  of  the  clock.  As  his  hand  passed  back  and 
forth  across  his  brow  suddenly  he  leaped  from  the  chair, 
and  shaking  his  clinched  fist  at  the  photograph  of  C. 
August  Wetherby,  he  cried,  "I  will  do  it;  I  will!  All 
the  devils  in  hell  shall  not  cheat  me  of  this  revenge !" 

Again  he  sat  in  the  soft  fullness  of  the  chair  before 
the  grate.  "What  am  I  that  I  should  sit  here  crying  into 
my  own  heart  for  the  things  I  have  lost  out  of  my  life  ?" 
he  demanded  savagely.  "If  these  gold-plated  pirates  did 
not  fear  me ;  if  I  could  not  make  good  on  a  show-down 
that  would  put  such  men  as  the  Hon.  Horace  Holdon 
into  stripes,  do  you  think  they,  the  ultra  respectable,  law 
abiding,  God-fearing  upholders  of  the  social  fabric 
would  permit  me  to  live  here  and  rob  other  men's  sons  ? 
No !  And  by  all  the  gods  of  Rome,  no  man  shall  stand 
between  me  and  my  accounting  with  this  man  Holdon. 
If  brute  force  and  fox-like  cunning  is  the  highest  con 
cept  of  which  these  men  upon  whom  I  prey  have  knowl 
edge,  if  they  will  use  me,  the  social  outcast,  the  one  man 
selected  by  the  godly  for  hell's  fiercest  fires,  to  gain  their 
ends  in  politics,  to  act  as  a  connecting  link  between  their 
Christian  homes  and  the  society  of  their  mistresses,  shall 
I  be  denied  the  right  to  put  my  claws  into  the  vitals  of 
the  individual  among  them  who — but,  pshaw — Jim, 
You're  making  a  fool  of  yourself.  Some  one  said,  'It  is 
not  well  for  man  to  be  alone,'  and  that  is  true  of  you. 
To  be  alone  is  to  think  of  your  wrongs.  To  think  of 
your  wrongs  is  to  decide  either  to  sharpen  your  claws 
or  go  jump  into  the  river.  Well,  it  will  be  the  river 
some  day,  old  man,  but  not  until  the  tiger  loses  his 
taste  for  blood  and  his  claws  are  inadequate  to  meet 
the  demands  of  the  jungle." 

"Come  in,"  Gardner  called  out,  in  response  to  a 
ring.  George  entered,  and  laying  several  letters  upon 
the  table  at  his  master's  elbow  turned  to  go. 

"Dinner  in  thirty  minutes,"  he  announced,  and  add 
ed:  "I  saw  Snively — he  said  you  were  to  remember 


35^  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

the  meeting  with  the  committee  tonight  at  

Hotel,  said  the  committee  is  afraid  Sullivan  is  trying 
strong-arm  work  in  the  thirteenth.  Snively  said  you 
ought  to  make  it  look  big;  said  it  would  be  safe  to 
milk  'em  to  the  limit;  said  he'd  seen  Smith  and  he 
promised  to  raise  hell  to-day  in  the  twelfth." 

"Here,  old  man;"  Gardner  laughed  as  he  handed 
George  a  ten  dollar  bill.  "You  are  the  'best  ever.  Tell 
Snively  that  I  will  see  the  Honorable,  the  Committee, 
and  to-morrow  afternoon  the  deal  will  be  fixed  between 
our  enemy,  Murphy,  and  ourselves.  Tell  him  I'll  see 
him  at  his  place." 

When  George  had  gone,  Jim  Gardner  left  his  chair 
for  a  second  time  and  he  appeared  another  man,  erect, 
the  fire  of  battle  in  his  eyes,  and  the  strong  lines  of 
purpose  clearly  marked  upon  an  equally  strong  face.  As 
he  walked  back  and  forth  across  the  length  of  his  sit 
ting-room,  he  arranged  his  pawns  upon  the  squares — 
the  Municipal  Campaign — two  great  parties  struggling, 
two  armies  of  honestly  divided  citizens,  playing  inno 
cently  into  the  hands  of  "Shifty"  Smith,  the  prostitutes' 
angel,  into  the  hands  of  Jim  Gardner — we  know  him — 
playing  innocently  into  the  hands  of  Sullivan,  the  man 
on  the  other  side — a  combination  of  all  the  worse  traits 
in  both  Snively  and  Gardner,  playing  innocently  into 
the  hands  of  great  vested  interests. 

"I  wonder  what's  in  the  mail  ?"  Gardner  asked  him 
self,  taking  up  one  after  another  of  the  letters  upon  the 
table.  A  smile  came  to  his  lips  as  he  gazed  at  the 
superscription  upon  the  envelope  in  his  hand.  "Maggie, 
or  I'm  a  piker."  The  smile  broadened,  and  one  might 
read  in  the  face  of  this  social  wolf  a  trace  of  soul. 
"Maggie — I  wonder  what  she  can  want  now?"  The 
envelope  lies  open  upon  the  table,  a  hasty  glance  at  its 
contents  and  George  is  summoned. 

"George,  is  'Shifty'  Smith  in  town?  If  he  isn't,  I 
want  you  to  find  out  where  a  wire  will  reach  him.  If  he 
is,  I  want  a  letter  taken  to  him." 

"I  could  telephone  him  to  come  over." 

"No,  George,  that  won't  do.  The  thing  I  want  of 
him  won't  bear  talking  about ;  I  want  to  put  it  in  black 
and  white  and  get  his  answer  in  the  same  shape.  Go 
down  and  see  if  you  can  catch  him." 


THE   MILLS  OF  THE  GODS — STOPS  357 

As  George  left  the  room,  Gardner  picked  up  the 
letter  again. 

"Poor  little  Maggie,  she,  too,  has  carried  weight,  but 
up  to  now  she  has  been  close  to  the  money  all  the  time. 
It's  a  lie ;  I  know  the  girl's  as  square  as  any  on  the  turf. 
So  Hogan  got  her — gives  her  the  choice  of  being  rail 
roaded  to  the  pen  on  the  testimony  of  his  hired  witnesses, 
or  accepting  the  queenship  of  his  5th  avenue  house  and 
'his  dirty  hogship  thrown  in  as  an  alternative.  Well, 
George?" 

"Yes,  I  can  get  him ;  going  to  be  here  until  after  the 
committee  meeting." 

"All  right,  wait !"  Gardner  took  up  a  pen  and  wrote : 
A.  Z.  Smith: 

Dear  Sir — Hogan  is  assisting  in  prosecution  of  Margaret 
Benton.  I  want  you  to  either  write  or  tell  him  that,  should 
he  persist  in  this  matter,  you  will  see  that  he  is  cut  off  be 
low  the  ears — make  it  plain.  The  girl  is  innocent,  and  his 
graft  is  to  get  her  under  his  control  as  the  price  of  his  pull 
ing  out  of  the  case.  I  don't  care  how  you  do  the  trick,  only 
do  it  to-day.  For  political  reasons,  Hogan  must  not  know 
that  I  have  passed  this  up  to  you;  I've  got  to  work  with 
him  in  this  campaign.  Give  bearer  your  answer.  Yours  truly, 

James  C.  Gardner. 

The  Honorable  Horace  Holdon  sat  in  the  parlor  ot 
his  Paris  hotel  as  he  wrote  the  following  letter,  addressed 
to  ex- Judge  Carton,  one  of  the  leading  members  of  the 
Business  Men's  League: 

Dear  Judge — Your  letter  of  this  morning  fills  me  with  ap 
prehension.  I  have  known  for  some  time  that  the  Democrats 
were  prepared  to  take  advantage  of  the  seeming  laxity  of  the 
present  administration  to  make  a  grand-stand  play  for  the 
vote  of  the  discontented  rabble,  the  anarchical  Socialist  labor 
element.  I  also  feel  with  you  that  it  would  indeed  be  throw 
ing  good  money  away  to  finance  a  campaign  with  our  present 
mayor  and  at  least  two  of  the  other  officers  on  the  ticket.  I 
also  agree  with  you  that  "A  Business  Administration"  is  the 
very  best  thing  we  can  offer  against  the  cry  of  graft  that  Sul 
livan  is  raising  against  the  administration.  Your  suggestion 
that  I  am  financially,  socially  and  religiously  fitted  to  head 
our  ticket  does  me  great  honor;  the  further  suggestion  that 
my  name  at  the  head  of  the  ticket  will  give  our  party  a  pres 
tige  with  the  moral  element  that  will  put  us  on  a  plane  above 
even  the  suggestion  of  our  using  the  purchasable  vote,  while 
it  is  no  doubt  true,  has  in  a  measure  overwhelmed  me.  I  can 
only  add,  dear  friend,  that  I  place  myself  in  your  hands  and 
assure  you  that  I  am  ready  to  meet  my  pro-rata  of  the  legiti 
mate  expenses  of  the  campaign,  in  case  of  nomination. 

Yours,  Horace  Holdon. 


MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

Three  hours  after  the  receipt  of  this  letter,  ex-Judge 
Carton  had  his  private  secretary  fousily  engaged  in  get 
ting  out  fifty  letters,  identical  in  all  respects,  touching  the 
naming  of  the  head  of  the  ticket,  but  in  personal  pleas 
made  to  the  several  men  addressed  a  wide  divergence  of 
reasons  were  advanced  in  order  to  insure  their  approval. 
To  James  C.  Gardner  he  wrote : 

Dear  Gardner — I  have  succeeded  in  landing  Holdon,  late 
of  the  Founders'  Trust,  now  a  plain  citizen,  for  head  of 
ticket  and  have  his  promise  that  he  will  fill  the  barrel.  I 
am  writing  to  the  others  who  gave  me  their  pledge  last  No 
vember  to  stand  by  whatever  I  framed  up  to  beat  the  Fed 
eral  crowd  in  the  coming  campaign.  I've  fixed  two  other 
places  on  the  ticket,  one  for  the  Provident  Gas  people,  one  for 
the  "P.  and  A.,"  as  the  price  of  their  influence  in  the  conven 
tion.  We  want  you  to  take  charge  of  the  lower  end  of  this 
campaign,  and  with  Holdon,  gas  and  street  R.  R.,  to  say  noth 
ing  of  the  moral  element  we  shall  be  able  to  call,  you  can 
have  all  the  funds  you  need.  We  are  bound  to  win.  The  peo 
ple  are  ripe  for  revolt,  and  the  only  way  to  hold  them  away 
from  the  Socialists  is  to  give  them  a  goo-goo  to  vote  for  for 
mayor  and  a  business  platform.  After  it  is  all  over,  win  or 
lose,  come  to  me  for  anything  you  want  and  I  will  see  that 
you  get  it.  I  can  say  this  to  you,  because  you  know  that  I 
am  not  risking  anything,  either  personal  or  political,  in  this 
fight.  I'll  tell  you  more  when  I  see  you.  Can  you  meet  me  at 
the  Eagle  to-morrow  at  2:30?  Judge  Terwill  will  be  with 
me.  Yours,  J.  M.  Carton. 

To  a  staunch  Republican,  he  wrote: 

Rev.  J.  M.  Alexander,  Pastor,  St.  John's: 

Dear  Brother — It  gives  me  the  greatest  pleasure  to  be  able 
to  let  you  have  a  foreword  of  hope,  relative  to  the  coming 
campaign  in  this  city.  You  doubtless  recall  our  interview  in 
November  last,  at  which  time  I  gave  you  assurance  that  I 
should  give  the  municipal  situation  my  most  careful  atten 
tion,  and,  if  possible,  so  work  upon  our  party  managers  that 
they  would  see  the  absolute  necessity  of  placing  next  year's 
campaign  practically  in  the  hands  of  the  best  business  men 
of  the  city.  And  as  I  am  convinced  that  the  vast  majority 
of  our  business  men  are  Christians,  I  trust  that  we  shall 
have  not  only  a  business  men's  ticket,  but  a  clean  business  ad 
ministration,  as  the  result  of  our  November  interview.  I  am 
pleased  to  announce  to  you  that  Mr.  Holdon,  of  the  Holdon 
Company,  a  leading  member  of  the  Methodist  church,  and  a 
man  who  has  never  permitted  his  name  to  be  used  in  any 
political  connection  whatever  in  city  politics  in  the  past,  ha^; 
consented  to  make  the  race  for  mayor,  provided  our  party 
pledges  itself  to  use  none  but  clean  methods  in  the  cam- 


THE   MILLS  OF  THE  GODS — STOPS  359 

paign.  I  am  depending  upon  you  to  take  personal  charge  of 
the  campaign  among  right-thinking  people  in  the  churches, 
and  especially  amongst  Prohibitionists.  Mr.  Holdon  is,  as 
you  are  doubtless  aware,  an  ardent  Prohibitionist.  Of  course, 
this  will  not  be  an  issue  in  the  campaign,  but  believing  as 
I  do  that  we  must  be  both  as  wise  as  serpents  and  as  harm 
less  as  doves  if  we  are  to  successfully  combat  the  evil  influ 
ences  in  our  municipality,  I  feel  confident  that  you  will  know 
how  to  use  the  information  here  given.  I  suppose  it  is  hard 
ly  necessary  to  add  that  we  shall  have  to  depend  largely 
upon  the  free-will  offerings  of  our  Christian  citizenship  for 
funds  for  this  campaign.  I  shall  do  myself  the  honor  to  call 
upon  you  Thursday  evening,  when  we  can  more  fully  enter 
into  the  several  matters  that  may  suggest  themselves  to  you, 
and  would  suggest  that  you  see  Judge  Terwill  in  the  mean 
time.  Yours  truly,  Carton. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


IN  A  TEXAS  TOWN. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  our  story  to  recount  the  'hap 
penings  of  the  early  days  of  Estella's  sojourn  in  the 
city  of  Dallas.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  she  has  suffered 
and  still  has  faith ;  has  hoped  against  hope  and  is  still 
unconvinced  that  the  man  who  promised  so  much  is 
utterly  a  bankrupt  in  moral  sense.  She  did  not  know 
that  Mickey  had  had  two  letters  from  Joel ;  the  last  more 
insistent  than  the  first,  in  declaring  that  the  deal  was 
all  off  and  that  if  the  girl  had  any  sense,  she  would  un 
derstand  the  situation.  Mickey  had  been  sorely  tempted 
to  make  a  clean  breast  of  the  affair,  but  her  pathetic 
faith  in  her  baby's  power  to  ultimately  prevail  upon  the 
father,  to  give  her  the  right  to  live  in  the  world  of  good 
women,  disarmed  him.  When  both  nurse  and  doctor 
were  gone,  and  Mickey  sat  cuddling  the  little  black  haired 
daughter  of  his  mistress  in  his  arms  one  morning,  there 
came  to  him  a  something  that  satisfied  the  hunger  of  his 
heart  and  for  a  moment  even  softened  his  hatred  of  the 
baby's  father. 

The  door  opened  and  Estella  entered.  Mickey,  with 
face  aglow,  lifted  a  warning  finger,  at  which  magic  sign 
the  young  mother,  radiantly  lovely,  came  up  on  tip-toe 
and  knelt  down  beside  the  two. 

"Isn't  she  just  beautiful,  Mickey?"  The  whisper 
came  while  the  mother's  eyes  dwelt  lovingly  upon  the 
sleeping  babe. 

Mickey  lowered  his  head  and  answered  'with  a  great 
•lump  in  his  throat :  "She's  most  like  you,  lady." 

"And,  Mickey,  you  believe  James  would  love  us  if 
he  could  only  see  his  little  daughter,  don't  you?"  This 
prayer  for  the  sustaining  power  of  another's  faith  was 
not  read  amiss  by  her  knight  as  he  looked  into  her  plead 
ing  eyes. 

"If  he's  a  man,  missus — if  he's  on'y  half  a  man,  he 
360 


IN   A   TEXAS   TOWN  361 

can't  in  no  ways  help  it."  Under  his  breath  'he  con 
demned  that  man  to  the  very  depths  of  perdition. 

"I  knew  you  would  say  so !"  she  exclaimed  exultant 
ly.  "And  now  we  must  write  James  once  more,  and  this 
time  'he  will  come." 

The  baby's  eyes  opened  and  a  tiny  hand  reached  out. 
The  mother,  on  her  feet  in  an  instant,  had  the  wee  mite 
in  her  arms,  close  hugged,  while  Mickey  sat  feasting  his 
soul  upon  the  vision  and  swearing  the  while  that  he 
would  bring  Joel  to  them  if  it  cost  his  life. 

Two  letters  bearing  the  same  date  and  the  same 
postmark  reached  Chicago  on  the  same  day.  Both  were 
for  the  same  -man,  but  each  bore  a  different  address. 
Joel  received  the  first  at  his  hotel  and  as  he  read  it  he 
scowled,  and  cursing,  tore  it  into  bits  and  consigned  it 
piece  by  piece  to  a  cuspidor.  The  second  letter  was 
handed  to  him  that  afternoon  at  the  Eagle.  Joel  sat  a 
long  time  after  reading  this  second  letter  without  giv 
ing  audible  expression  to  his  feelings.  But  if  his  face 
was  a  fair  index  to  what  was  going  on  behind  it,  there 
was  death  lurking  there  for  some  one  who  had  offended. 

To  learn  the  next  step  in  this  tragedy,  the  reader 
must  scan  closely  the  letter  this  man  has  read,  as  it  lies 
open  upon  the  table  before  him. 

Dalas,  Texas,  Dec ,  19 

Mr.  William  Manning: — Care  Bagel  Club,  Chicago, 
Yours  afactionate — the  missus  is  a  wrighten  to  yo  agin  to 
day.  And  she  Wants  yo  to  comb  most  owfel  badshe  has  the 
sweatest  little  babby — say  it  is  a  Piech.  Now  I  knows  yo 
haint  agoine  to  Comb  kauze  steller  asks  yo  to,  but  yo  Is  a 
combin  Jist  the  samee  cause  i  ses  combAn  yo  air  agonter 
give  her  the  one  more  chanst  Shes  bin  a  cryin  fer — cause  ef 
yo  dont  ime  agonter  comb  ub  strait  to  the  Mertroplys  an  rayse 
Helle  with  yo — an  yo  knows  i  knows  how  to 

yo  don't  need  to  think  es  how  I  am  out  ov  coin  cause  I 
haint — i  got  800  Iron  dollyars  in  my  close — an  when  I  lyed 
to  you  bout  a  losyng  de  coin  i  done  it  cause  I  knowed  yo  was 
a  Welsher  an  intented  to  do  the  Missus  dirt — so  yo  see  ime 
fixted  fer  yo 

Now  yo  comb  an  comb  P.  D.  Q.  er  we  is  combin  to  the  Mer 
troplys  an  look  up  youse  fokses — an  i  knows  where  to  look, 
we  ar  a  combing  by  Januairy  fyrste — 

John  Williams, 

yose  Trule, 
Mickey  Dougherty. 

Joel  picked  up  the  letter  and  read  it  a  second  time, 


362  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

drew  out  a  bill  book,  placed  the  letter  in  it  and  returned 
it  to  his  pocket.  He  passed  a  hand  across  his  forehead, 
muttering  the  while,  "I  might  have  expected  it.  The  lit 
tle  devil!  And  he  lied  to  me  about  the  money.  Much 
good  it  will  do  him  once  I  get  my  hands  on  him.  I've 
got  to  do  it."  Still  muttering,  he  went  to  his  dinner, 
and  later  joined  Will  Hammond  and  a  couple  of  sports 
in  a  game  of  poker.  In  the  small  hours  of  the  morn 
ing,  when  the  "setting"  broke  up,  he  said  to  Will  Ham 
mond,  "I'm  beastly  tired  of  this  town  and  believe  Til 
start  for  the  coast  to-morrow  or  the  next  day ;  so  I  might 
as  -well  say  good-by.  I'm  not  going  out  home,  too  busy; 
you  say  good-by  to  Bee  for  me,  Hammond.  So  long, 
fellows." 

Tis  said  so  long  as  one  has  life,  there  is  room  to 
hope  for  better  things.  And  surely  Estella  hoped  for 
better  things,  as  with  a  mother's  eyes  she  looked  at  her 
baby,  and  for  the  thousandth  time  told  herself,  James 
could  not  resist  the  touch  of  those  baby  fingers.  With  all 
the  weight  of  her  accumulated  sorrows  upon  her  those 
little  fingers  had  twined  themselves  about  the  tendrils 
of  her  heart  and  lifted  her  even  with  their  puny  strength 
above  the  world  we  know,  and  full  into  the  realm  of  ex 
alted  motherhood.  Looking  through  eyes  of  love  at  the 
delicate  lips,  the  bright,  brown  eyes,  the  dimpled  hands 
of  her  month-old  babe,  she  told  herself  again  and  again 
that  even  though  the  man  did  not  love  her,  he  surely 
could  not  refuse  to  do  her  justice  for  the  sake  of  his 
wee,  winsome  daughter.  Believing  this,  she  sang  once 
more  the  songs  Mickey  had  heard  upon  her  lips  in  a 
time  which  seemed  to  him  to  'have  belonged  to  another 
life. 

While  Mickey  sat  listening,  the  owner  of  the  cot 
tage  and  another  man  came  around  the  house. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you  giving  me  enough  dirt 
out  of  that  hole  you  have  been  digging  to  fill  up  this  old 
well,"  Mickey's  landlord  asked  the  other  man. 

"Nothing  in  the  world,  if  you'll  get  it  out  of  our 
way,"  was  the  reply. 

"All  right,  I'll  send  a  man  up,"  the  landlord  be 
gan,  when  Mickey,  anxious  to  get  at  something  that 
would  take  some  of  his  time  asked — "Boss,  couldn't 
youse  give  me  th'  job  ?" 


IN   A  TEXAS  TOWN  363 

"Why  yes,"  said  the  man  laughing.  "I  never  thought 
of  you ;  come  down  with  me  and  I'll  give  you  a  shovel. 
How  much  is  the  job  worth?"  he  asked  the  contractor. 

"Why,  if  you  was  buying  the  dirt,  and  having  it  put 
there  it  would  cost  you  a  good  bit ;  but,  he  can  have  one 
of  our  wheelbarrows,  and  he  ought  to  get  five  dollars 
out  of  the  job." 

"That's  all  very  satisfactory,"  Mickey  announced, 
and  went  for  his  shovel. 

Returning,  he  labored  for  two  hours,  and  went  in  to 
supper,  tired  bodily,  rested  mentally,  and  ravenously 
hungry.  That  night  as  he  looked  down  into  the  well  and 
guessed  its  depth  at  sixteen  feet,  he  concluded  he  would 
earn  the  five  dollars  if  he  ever  filled  the  hole. 

James  Y.  Johnson  rode  out  of  Chicago  in  a  Pullman, 
bound  for  Kansas  City,  Mo.  As  Joel  Holdon,  he  might 
be  bound  for  the  coast,  but  as  Mr.  Johnson,  he  proposed 
first  to  settle  a  little  matter  of  domestic  'business  this  side 
of  the  Rockies.  His  only  information  regarding  the 
whereabouts  of  those  he  sought  in  Dallas  was  a  street 
address,  and  that  tells  nothing  until  one  stands  at  the 
door  and  rings.  He  did  not  know  that  the  little  cot 
tage  in  which  they  had  taken  refuge  was  fully  a  block 
away  from  any  inhabited  dwelling.  He  did  not  know 
that  Mickey  had  strenuously  opposed  this  and  had 
begged  Estella  to  take  a  flat  down  town,  out  she  had  in 
sisted  that  this  "last  house  but  one"  on  a  poor  street  was 
good  enough,  since  James  had  twice  quarreled  with  her 
because  she  had  made  friends  with  her  neighbors.  Here 
she  would  not  have  neighbors  until  he  gave  her  a  right 
to  have  them. 

Arrived  in  Dallas,  he  went  to  a  cheap  hotel  and  reg 
istered  as  John  H.  Smith,  Dennison,  Texas.  Paying  fo* 
a  night's  lodging,  he  asked  the  clerk  to  direct  him  to  the 
address  Estella  had  given  him.  Mickey  never  thought  of 
sending  a  street  address. 

"At  this  time  of  night?"  the  clerk  inquired.  "You 
ain't  going  out  there;  why  it's  past  ten  and  it's  right 
smart  over  a  mile." 

"Well,  I'm  going,"  Joel  answered  shortly. 

"All  right,  you  can't  miss  it;  go  two  blocks  north, 
then  straight  east.  I  used  to  deliver  groceries  out  that 
way.  The  house  stands  by  itself,  there's  about  a  block 


364  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

on  each  side  of  it  that's  open.  It's  the  next  to  the  last 
house  on  the  left  hand  side  going  out.  You  can't  miss 
it,"  he  called  after  the  departing  guest,  then  took 
Smith's  suitcase  and  set  it  behind  the  office  desk,  remark 
ing  as  he  did  so :  "That  guy  sure  does  carry  a  Jim  daisy 
grip." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE%  MURDER. 

"See,  Mickey,  she's  wide  awake  as  though  it  wasn't 
ten  o'clock.  Isn't  she  sweet?  Do  you  want  to  go  to 
Uncle  Mickey?"  Mickey  laughed  as  he  took  the  baby  and 
began  to  hobble  up  and  down  the  room  while  Estella 
put  things  in  order  for  the  night.  When  all  was  ready, 
she  took  the  baby  from  his  arms,  laughingly  said :  "Good 
night,  Uncle  Mickey,"  and  closed  the  door. 

The  boy  sat  with  elbows  on  the  table,  his  head  rest 
ing  upon  his  hands  and  his  eyes  fastened  upon  the  door 
of  Estella's  room.  Would  Joel  come  and  if  he  came 
what  would  be  the  outcome  of  his  visit.  These  ques 
tions,  and  the  answers  that  multiplied  as  he  gave  his 
mind  to  the  problems  ahead,  held  him  motionless  for  a 
good  half  hour.  Then  he  arose,  locked  the  outer  doors 
and  -went  to  his  bed  in  the  long,  low  room  above.  He 
•was  still  speculating  on  the  responsibilities  and  possi 
bilities  involved  in  his  position  when  he  heard  a  step  on 
the  board  walk,  then  after  a  pause  the  gate  in  front 
opened  and  the  steps  came  nearer  and  nearer. 

Estella  had  taken  her  baby  in  her  arms,  and  lay 
awake,  dreaming  of  the  coming  of  James.  He  could  not 
resist  the  claims  of  their  baby.  He  could  not!  If  he 
should  refuse  to  live  with  her,  he  would  at  least  give 
her  his  name,  if  only  until  he  could  divorce  her  and  thus 
protect  their  child.  Still  dreaming  of  her  baby's  fu 
ture,  still  exulting  in  sacrifice  of  self,  she  was  startled 
at  the  sound  of  footsteps  upon  the  creaking  board  walk. 

That  step !  Was  it  possible !  Instantly  she  was  upon 
'her  feet.  Hastening  to  a  window  commanding  a  view 
of  the  tiny  front  porch,  she  drew  the  shade  aside  suffi 
cient  to  admit  a  view  of  the  porch. 

The  nocturnal  visitor  halted  at  the  steps,  and  light 
ing  a  match  held  it  high,  as  he  scanned  the  door  for  a 
number.  At  sight  of  his  face  in  the  flickering  light  Es- 

365 


366  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

tella  gave  a  glad  cry — "Oh,  James !  James !" 

The  man  turned  his  eyes  upon  the  window,  while  she, 
mad  with  joy,  had  thrown  open  the  door  of  her  room, 
then  the  front  door,  and  stood  in  the  darkness  of  the 
hallway,  trembling  and  sobbing  out  her  relief. 

Joel  entered  to  be  clasped  tight  in  the  arms  of  the 
woman  he  had  wronged  so  grievously. 

"I  knew  you  would  come,.  James/'  She  sought  his 
lips  and  he,  bewildered  by  this  unlooked-for  welcome, 
submitted  in  silence.  "I  knew  you  would  come,  and  now 
you  poor,  tired  dear,  I  am  going  to  show  you  our  treas 
ure  before  I  do  anything  else  for  you.  Why,  James,  she 
is  so  lovely,  and  she  does  resemble  you." 

Unresisting,  she  led  him  into  her  room,  and  left  him 
to  turn  on  the  lights.  When  the  lights  glowed,  and  she 
turned  back  to  him,  she  halted  and  looked  in  terror  at 
the  face  of  the  man.  Timidly  she  approached  him  and 
laying  a  trembling  hand  upon  his  arm,  asked — "What  is 
the  matter  James?  You  look — you  look — are  you  ill?" 

And  the  man,  his  heart  rilled  with  hatred  of  this  wom 
an,  because,  forsooth,  she  seemed  bent  upon  preventing 
him  from  having  his  own  way,  even  at  the  fearful  cost 
of  her  life  and  the  future  of  their  babe,  stood  with  the 
stamp  of  man's  worst  passions  clearly  defined  in  every 
feature.  He  had  not  spoken  a  word  since  he  entered  the 
'house.  She,  standing  rigid  before  him,  read  in  his  face 
the  doom  of  every  hope,  and  as  she  tottered  back,  her 
hand  fell  upon  the  warm  body  of  her  child.  Like  a  cur 
rent  of  fire,  this  contact  sent  hope  surging  back  to  rein 
force  her  reason.  Quickly  bending  over  the  child,  she 
clasped  it  in  her  arms  and  kissed  it. 

Joel  watched  her  as  she  bent  over  the  bed  and  his 
heart  hardened. 

This  baby  was  a  fetter  for  his  limbs,  and  so  long 
as  Estella  and  Mickey  lived  it  must  ever  be  a  night 
mare  to  take  a  thousand  hateful  shapes,  tormenting  him 
with  the  possibilities  of  exposure. 

In  that  long,  low  room  above,  Mickey  had  bounded 
from  his  bed  at  Estella's  first  cry.  Then  when  he  heard 
her  voice  in  the  hall  he  knew  that  at  last  his  prayer  had 
found  answer  and  had  brought  with  it  his  hour  of  su 
preme  trial.  He  hurried  into  his  clothes  and  hastily 
gathering  his  little  hoard  of  money,  started  to  leave  the 


THE  MURDER  367 

room,  fully  intending  to  hide  out  until  Joel  should  leave. 
The  mother  lifted  the  babe  in  her  arms  and  turning 
held  out  her  offering  of  a  new  life  and  it's  wondrous 
possibilities  to  the  man.  "Take  her,  James,  take  her 
and  may  God  help  her  to  win  your  love."  The  pathos 
of  her  plea,  the  renunciation  of  self,  were  all  lost  on  the 
infuriated  man. 

With  the  quickness  of  a  tiger,  he  clutched  the  baby 
and  with  an  oath,  flung  it  blindly  from  him.  The  moth 
er,  reading  death  in  his  eyes,  flew  at  him  with  a  cry  of 
mingled  rage  and  terror.  For  a  time,  he  sought  only  to 
keep  her  from  harming  him,  but  as  she  persisted,  the 
devil  of  unbridled  license  took  full  control  of  his  facul 
ties,  and  he  began  to  push  her  back  until  she  fell  across 
the  bed.  His  hands  had  settled  in  a  grip  upon  her  throat. 
As  her  eyes  began  to  protrude,  and  her  struggles  grew 
weaker,  the  demon  whispered  to  him  to  end  it  all,  all. 

Mickey  heard  the  mother's  cry  and  the  wailing  of  the 
baby  he  loved  as  he  halted  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  be 
fore  seeking  safety  in  flight.  That  cry  was  all  that  was 
needed  to  bring  back  the  courage  that  in  his  mill  days 
had  often  pitted  him  against  those,  who,  because  of 
physical  superiority  attempted  to  abuse  him.  With  set 
lips  and  a  face  red  with  the  rich  blood  of  a  righteous 
purpose,  the  boy  ran  back  to  his  attic  room  and  slipping 
into  his  pocket  the  revolver  he  had  taken  once  before 
when  he  went  to  meet  Joel,  he  bounded  down  the  stairs. 

The  door  stood  ajar  and  the  first  glimpse  Mickey 
got  of  the  interior  showed  the  baby  in  a  huddled,  now 
silent  heap  upon  the  floor.  Without  a  thought  of  the 
others,  he  darted  in  and  catching  up  this,  his  one  legiti 
mate  love,  the  one  affection  of  his  poor,  starved  life,  on 
account  of  which  he  need  not  feel  ashamed,  he  turned 
facing  the  bed,  and  all  the  pent-up  wrath,  engendered 
during  his  months  of  slavery  to  the  man,  found  utter 
ance. 

Joel  turned  his  head  to  meet  the  angry  eyes  of  the 
cripple. 

"You  little  devil ;  your  time  has  come !"  he  cried  as  he 
sprang  at  the  boy. 

Mickey  had  forgotten  that  he  held  the  baby  when  he 
saw  Joel  choking  the  mother,  and  as  Joel  sprang  at  him, 
he  attempted  to  dodge,  still  holding  the  'baby.  Joel, 


368  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

blind  with  a  murderous  passion,  saw  nothing  but  the  boy 
and  in  his  mad  pursuit  frustrated  his  own  ends  by  rea 
son  of  his  haste.  Overturning  the  center-table  in  an 
effort  to  remove  it  from  his  path,  he  stumbled,  and 
Mickey,  throwing  the  baby  upon  the  bed,  darted  from 
the  room  with  Joel  at  his  heels. 

The  cripple  had  read  the  same  message  in  the  man's 
blood-shot  eyes  that  the  mother  had  read  for  her  child 
— death!  Forgetting  for  the  time  that  he  held  the  key 
to  life  and  death  in  his  pocket,  in  fear  of  his  life,  he 
started  back  through  the  sitting  room.  The  -madman  be 
hind  him,  had  almost  clutched  him  at  the  entrance  to 
the  dining  room.  On  through  that  room,  the  panting 
cripple,  now  fully  possessed  of  the  terror  of  death,  raced 
for  his  life.  The  kitchen  was  reached,  and  only  then 
did  Mickey  realize  that  he  was  trapped.  The  door  was 
locked,  and  the  key  hung  upon  its  accustomed  nail.  The 
moment  necessary  to  secure  that  key  and  that  other  mo 
ment  necessary  to  unlock  the  door,  would  never  be  his. 
Turning  from  the  door  to  double  back,  he  felt  the  hands 
of  the  pursuer  upon  him,  then  his  hot  breath,  as  he 
bore  the  weaker  body  to  the  floor.  Mickey,  like  any 
other  animal,  however  weak,  when  facing  death,  fought 
desperately ;  while  the  man,  intent  only  upon  the  accom 
plishment  of  a  fixed  purpose,  worked  to  fasten  his  hold 
upon  his  victim's  throat,  regardless  of  the  scratches  and 
blows  rained  upon  him.  In  the  struggle,  Mickey  sud 
denly  put  one  hand  down  to  his  side  to  give  him  lev 
erage  to  lift  himself,  and  relieve  his  body  of  the  grind 
ing  weight  of  Joel's  knee,  it  was  then  his  hand  came  in 
contact  with  the  revolver.  The  mind  acting  with  the 
rapidity  of  light,  the  twisted  body  heaving  upward  from 
the  hips,  lifted  the  weight  of  the  man.  The  free  hand 
drew  the  weapon,  and  pressing  it  against  the  body  of 
his  adversary,  a  bullet  speeded  to  its  work.  The  grip 
of  the  hand  upon  his  throat  relaxed,  the  body  above  him 
settled  down  with  a  little  shudder  of  twitching  muscles. 
The  breath  of  his  enemy  came  in  a  sigh  to  his  ears,  and 
was  stilled.  How  long  he  lay  half  smoiwered  beneath 
the  weight  of  the  man,  Mickey  Dougherty  will  never 
know.  In  the  reaction  that  followed  his  deliverance  from 
death,  he  lost  consciousness,  and  lay  as  one  dead. 

But  life  and  its  perplexing  problems  will  remain  to 


THE   MURDER  369 

all  who  fight  death,  until  he  shall  finally  conquer.  So, 
Mickey  awakened  to  life;  to  a  realization  of  his  crime, 
if  crime  it  be.  Yet  his  first  thought  as  he  shudderingly 
struggled  to  release  himself  from  the  dead  weight  that 
held  him,  was  for  the  woman  and  her  babe. 

Shaking  with  terror  of  the  thing  he  fully  expected 
to  find  in  that  front  room,  he  hesitated  even  when  he 
had  reached  the  sitting  room,  and  stood  leaning  for 
support  against  the  table,  every  faculty  strained  to  catch 
a  sound  of  life  from  the  room  before  him.  He  remem- 
'bered  that  he  had  found  the  foaby  lying  upon  the  floor. 
He  remembered  that  it  had  not  moved  in  his  arms.  Was 
it  dead?  He  had  seen  Joel's  cruel  fingers  upon  the  deli 
cate  throat  of  the  mother.  He  put  his  hands  to  his- 
own  throat  that  pulsed  and  throbbed  with  pain,  where 
the  same  fingers  had  sought  his  life.  Was  she  dead? 

"I  must,  I  must,  I  must,"  he  repeated  -with  ashy 
lips.  But  it  was  long  before  his  fear  of  the  coming 
day  finally  drove  him  to  action. 

His  mind  made  up,  he  rushed  into  the  room,  then 
halted.  Sitting  upon  the  edge  of  the  bed,  with  eyes 
that  still  protruded  and  seemed  dulled  with  pain,  hair 
disheveled  and  night  robe  torn  and  bloody,  Estella  stared 
at  him. 

"Thank  God  she's  not  dead,"  he  whispered. 

Then  seeing  the  tiny  heap  on  the  bed  beside  her  he 
cried:  "The  baby,  the  baby."  Taking  the  mite  in  his 
arms,  he  ran  to  the  light. 

"He  killed  her,  and  it's  just  as  well."  Estella  spoke 
without  emotion. 

"She's  alive,  she's  sure  alive ;  her  heart  beats." 

The  mother  came  staggering  from  the  bed  and  held 
out  her  arms. 

"She  hain't  hurted  much,  just  stunted  like,"  Mickey 
assured  her,  as  he  placed  the  little  bundle  in  her  arms. 

Without  a  sound,  Estella  turned  back  to  the  bed  and 
lay  down  with  the  baby  in  her  arms,  while  Mickey  stood 
trembling  with  a  new  fear  in  his  soul. 

"They  goes  bughouse  fer  lots  less  dan  she's  gone 
through,"  he  told  himself,  as  he  stood  waiting,  waiting. 
But,  the  mother  did  not  move,  and  Mickey,  remember 
ing  that  awful  thing  in  the  kitchen,  went  slowly  back, 
clutching  his  revolver.  A  thousand  terrors  lurking  in 


37O  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

the  darkness  halted  him  upon  the  threshold.  He  could 
see  Joel's  murderous  eyes  peering  at  him  out  of  the 
'blackness;  he  lifted  his  revolver  and  the  specter  danced 
away,  then  came  nearer,  and  as  he  pointed  the  revolver 
again  with  a  muttered  oath,  the  eyes  vanished.  Backing 
to  the  dining  table,  his  eyes  ever  on  the  dark  outline  of 
the  doorway,  he  turned  on  the  light  and  in  an  instant 
'his  fear  of  bodily  harm  vanished. 

The  man  he  feared  was  no  longer  able  to  cope  with 
the  weakest  life  cell  in  the  world.  He  lay  face  down 
upon  a  thick  woolen  rug,  and  Mickey,  no  longer  a  prey 
•to  fear,  went  boldly  into  the  kitchen,  turned  on  the 
light,  locked  the  door  behind  him  and  sat  down  to  meet 
the  greatest  crisis  in  his  life,  alone  and  unaided. 

"Of  course  they'll  hang  me,"  he  cast  reproachful 
eyes  upon  the  body.  "An'  I  wouldn't  care  t'  be  hanged 
fer  killin'  a  man,  but  you — youse  never  was  nothin'  but 
a  Johnny.  Youse  never  was,  an'  youse  come  here  in- 
tendin'  to  kill  all  of  us.  Youse  knows  youse  did — and 
I  don't  want  t'  be  hung  fer  no  sich  dirty  welsher.  An' 
I  won't!  I  won't!"  He  jumped  from  the  chair.  "I'll 
t'row  him  in  th'  old  well  an'  tell  missus  he's  gone;  that 
he  beat  me  an'  then  left." 

Fairly  reveling  in  relief  at  thought  of  this  sure  de 
liverance,  he  set  about  his  task. 

"They  do  it  at  th'  works,  an'  it's  jist  as  fair  fer 
me,"  he  argued.  "An'  they's  one  thing  I  got  ter  do — an' 
dat's  take  everything  offen  him;  so  if  any  one  ever 
does  dig  him  up,  dey  won't  know  who  he  is."  Suiting 
the  action  to  the  word,  Mickey  removed  the  papers, 
bill-book,  watch,  rings  and  jewelry  from  the  body  and 
did  it  as  unconcernedly  as  though  he  were  working  on 
an  every-day  job. 

His  long  years  in  an  industry  wherein  death  is 
almost  a  daily  visitor  among  the  workers  had  made  hi^ft 
callous  and  thoughtless  of  the  value  of  human  life  ex 
cept  where  it  touched  his  friends.  Johnson,  the  work 
man,  killed  in  the  Holdon  Company's  plant,  had  been 
such  a  friend. 

The  woman  and  child  for  whom  he  had  risked  his 
life,  he  loved. 

This  thing  with  its  still  snarling  lips  and  bloodshot 
eyes,  he  had  sworn  to  kill  if  he  harmed  Estella,  and 


"They  ain't  no  priest  ner  sky-pilot  g-oin'  t'  say  a  word  t'  God  fer  youse,  an' 
G-od  knows  I  ain't." — Page  371. 


THE   MURDER  371 

his  only  wonder  as  he  stripped  the  body  was  that  he 
had  not  thought  of  the  revolver  as  he  went  down-stairs 
in  answer  to  Estella's  cry  and  shot  the  brute  as  he  stood 
over  her. 

Having  removed  all  he  could  find  that  'might  serve 
to  identify  the  body,  he  unlocked  the  back  door  and 
after  taking  a  look  about  to  assure  himself  that  there 
was  no  one  to  discover  him  at  his  labor,  he  returned  to 
the  kitchen  and  extinguishing  the  light,  began  the  task 
of  removing  the  body.  Taking  the  rug  by  two  corners, 
he  pulled  its  burden  to  the  door,  then  down  the  steps, 
and  across  the  grass  plot  to  the  edge  of  the  well. 

"There,  Joel  Holdon,"  the  panting  boy  exclaimjed; 
"see  what  youse  got  fer  being  a  low-down  cuss !  They 
ain't  no  priest  ner  sky-pilot  goin'  t'  say  a  word  to  God 
fer  youse,  an'  God  knows  I  ain't.  Yer  jist  a-goin'  t' 
b'e  buried  like  th'  dog  that  youse  are.'" 

With  a  mighty  heave,  he  sent  both  body  and  rug  to 
the  bottom.  Then  he  began  the  labor  of  covering  the 
grewsome  thing.  With  shovel  and  wheelbarrow,  the 
boy  worked  on  in  the  dark  until  he  was  satisfied  that  the 
body  was  well  hidden,  before  he  went  back  to  the 
house. 

Creeping  noiselessly  to  the  front  room,  he  opened  the 
door  and  peeped  in;  then  entered  and  approached  the 
bed.  Estella  was  asleep,  but  the  baby  was  crying. 

"Poor  little  kid,  I  guess  I'll  have  ter  let  youse  cry 
till  th'  missus  wakes  up,"  he  told  the  baby,  then  left 
the  room  to  take  up  his  vigil.  "Four  o'clock  an'  I  ain't 
hardly  touched  th'  bed,  an'  I  don't  dast  to  now  fer 
fear  I  might  sleep  too  long."  He  spread  the  contents 
of  a  paper  bag  of  loot,  taken  from  Joel's  pockets,  on 
the  little  table  in  his  attic  room. 

"Now  I  wonder  what's  in  this  here  bill-book.  Gee 
whiz!  Yallerbacks  an'  five  hundred  dollar  ones,  an' 
one  hundred  ones  an'  a  bunch  of  fifties.  Ain't  they  no 
little  ones?  Yes,  they  is,  here's  a  wad  of  little  ones. 
He  had  these  here  in  his  pants  pocket."  He  looked  over 
his  shoulder  into  the  shadows,  bit  his  lips  and  looked 
back  at  the  pile  of  bills  before  him.  "Ain't  I  a  fool," 
he  exclaimed.  "He's  got  his,  plump  through  him,  too, 
an'  'sides,  if  he  was  alive,  they  ain't  no  way  in  th' 
world  he  could  climb  out  of  that  hole,  an'  here's  me 


3/2  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

as  has  seend  all  kinds  of  stiffs,  a-lookin'  in  corners  ex- 
pectin'  to  see  him.  Huh!" 

Busily,  he  counted  and  recounted  the  bills  and  coins 
he  had  dumped  upon  the  table.  "Well,  if  I  can't  count 
it,  I  reckin  it's  enough,"  he  mused,  replacing  the  large 
bills  in  the  bill-book  and  stowing  the  smaller  ones  in 
his  pockets.  "Now,  what's  in  them  letters;  if  they's 
anything  'bout  missus  er  the  kid,  I  reckon  I  ought  to 
kind  a-know  it."  Picking  up  one,  he  took  it  from  the 
envelope.  "Female,  by  crackey — an'  she's  in  Oakland, 
Calif. — that's'  Colorado — no  California.  Miss  Ethel 
White,  now  what's  he  a-doin'  t'  this  here  one?"  Slowly 
he  read  the  letter,  then  with  the  exclamation,  "He  need 
ed  t'  die,"  threw  the  missive  on  the  table.  "An'  he 
was  a-goin'  t'  th'  coast  t'  marry  Miss  Ethel  White  an* 
they  was  a-goin'  t'  Europe,  an'  he  told  her  he's  a-bringin' 
a  sparkler  along,  fer  she  says  she  is  countin'  th'  days 
till  she  sees  that  sparklin'  gem  he  is  a-bringin'  her. 
Wonder  if  it's  in  this!"  He  picked  up  a  flat  package, 
neatly  wrapped.  "Gracious  snakes,  ain't  they  th'  beau- 
tifulest  ever,"  holding  up  a  string  of  pearls  from  which 
swung  a  beautiful  diamond  pendant,  his  eyes  devoured 
their  beauty.  "An'  this  is  th'  ring — my,  it's  swell,  an' 
cost — it  must  have  cost  as  much  as  a  hundred  bones, 
an'  all  of  these  was  fer  Miss  Ethel  White,  an'  nothin' 
but  his  ringers  fer  th'  neck  of  th'  woman  what  loves 
him  like  a  dog!" 

Throwing  the  gems  back  upon  their  satin  bed,  he 
closed  the  case  with  a  snap.  "Them's  fer  his  baby,  an* 
nobody  don't  get  them  away  from  me  less  I'm  dead." 

"Well,"  he  went  on,  after  a  time  given  to  specula 
tion  as  to  the  outcome  of  it  all,  "if  I  am  t'  know  what 
all  them  papers  stands  fer,  'fora  I  puts  them  away  fer 
keeps,  it's  me  t'  work." 

At  five  o'clock  his  task  was  finished,  and  as  the 
herald  of  day  threw  his  beams  of  rosy  light  over  the 
east,  Mickey  went  softly  down-stairs,  peeped  in  at  the 
woman  upon  the  bed,  then  went  out  to  renew  his  labor 
upon  the  old  well. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SHE   WANTS   AN  ANGEL. 

"He  meant  to  kill  us!  Oh,  my  precious  baby,  he 
meant  to  kill  us !" 

"She's  all  right  in  her  top  piece,"  Mickey  whispered 
to  himself  as  he  stood  without  the  door. 

"And  I've  slept  and  left  my  poor  half  killed  baby 
to  cry  its  little  heart  out." 

"That's  the  stuff.  Long  as  she's  a-thinkin'  ov  th' 
kid,  she's  all  right."  He  started  to  leave  the  room. 

"Mickey,  oh,  Mickey,  are  you  up?  Has  Julia  come 
yet?" 

Mickey  turned  bac^  and  thrusting  a  tousled  head  into 
the  room  answered,  "No,  missus,  Julia  isn't  here.  It's 
on'y  six  o'clock." 

"Where  is  he,  Mickey?"  A  wild  look  of  remem 
brance,  of  terror,  convulsed  her  face.  Mickey  allowed 
himself  but  an  instant's  gaze  into  the  woman's  eyes; 
the  something  he  saw  there,  akin  to  hate  and  fear  and 
pain,  dumfounded  him.  Those  were  not  his  Estella's 
beautiful  eyes.  His  eyes  fell,  and  with  white  trembling 
lips,  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  clutched  at  the  door- 
jamb  for  support : 

"She  is  batty,  she  is.    Oh,  my  poor  missus !" 

"Where  is  he?  Tell  me,  is  he  hiding  behind  you?" 
She  sat  up,  holding  the  baby  to  her  breast.  "Ha,  ha, 
ha!  You  thought  my  baby  was  dead — but  see — I,  I 
saved  it.  And  when  the  time  comes — "  She  nodded 
her  head  and  smiled  'with  hideous  swollen  lips.  "When 
the  time  comes " 

Mickey  could  endure  no  more.  In  an  instant  he 
stood  beside  the  bed. 

"You  go  straight  to  sleep,  missus,"  he  pleaded. 
"They  ain't  nothin'  to  be  excited  over.  He's  gone,  gone, 
I  tell  youse,  an'  be  won't  come  back." 

373 


374  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"Won't  come  back?  Why,  Mickey,  I  want  to  show 
him  the  baby." 

Mickey,  distrait,  changed  his  tactics. 

"Yes,  he's  gone,  an'  he  told  me  positive  when  he 
left,  to  pack  up  sudden  and  hit  the  grit  for  Chi." 

"Why  suddenly,  Mickey?  Everything  seems  to  go 
around  and  stop,  and  then  go  around  again — suddenly? 
— Mickey,  what  does  it  all  mean?" 

"It  means  that  as  soon  as  we  gits  t'  Chicago,  you 
can  have  anything  youse  wants,  missus ;  anything  in  this 
world  youse  wants." 

"I  want  to  make  my  baby  an  angel,  a  beautiful  white 
angel  with  long  wings,  so  she  can  help  me  into  heaven." 
The  mother  looked  questioningly  at  him. 

"Can  I  do  that?"  she  demanded,  now  scowling. 

Mickey  shrank  back  affrighted  at  the  thing  he  saw  in 
her  face. 

"Sure  thing,  missus.  Dey's  a  reg'lar  angel  factory 
in  Chicago,  they  makes  'em  over,  jist  as  youse  wants 
'em." 

"Tell  me  about  it,  Mickey — tell  me  how  they  make 
angels." 

"Some  other  time,  missus."  He  backed  to  the  door. 
"Some  other  time.  Now  I  got  to  git  things  fixed  so's 
we  can  git  t'  that  angel  factory.  You  take  good  care 
of  th'  kid — -th'  baby,  missus,  else  she  won't  do  fer  no 
angel." 

"Oh,  God  Almighty — what  can  I  do?  She's  crazy 
as  a  dope  fiend  widout  dope,"  Mickey  said  to  himself  as 
he  sank  into  a  chair  by  the  table  and  buried  his  face 
in  his  hands. 

In  the  bed  room,  a  disheveled  woman  sat  upon  the 
edge  of  the  bed  beaming  down  into  the  upturned  eyes  of 
the  babe,  who,  after  satisfying  its  hunger,  lay  staring 
into  the  face  above  it. 

"I'm  going  to  make  an  angel,  a  beautiful  angel  of 
my  baby,  and  then  it  can  come  to  me  in  the  night  and 
sit  on  -my  bed  and  let  me  feel  of  its  great  white  wings." 
She  kissed  its  lips  and  stroked  its  hair,  as  she  went  on. 
"That  funny  twisted  little  man  knows  where  there's  an 
angel  factory  and  we're  going  straight  to  it." 

She  arose  and  placed  the  baby  snugly  among  the  pil- 


SHE   WANTS   AN    ANGEL  375 

lows,  saying,  "Now  sleep,  precious,  it's  to  be  mother's 

guardian  angel." 

****** 

"Julie,  did  youse  ever  hear  of  Chi?" 

"Where  are— -what  am  Chi?" 

"Chi?  Why,  that's  the  short  fer  Chicago,  the  great- 
es'  mertropolis  in  th'  whole  world." 

"Not  more  bigger  as  Houston,  I  reckon." 

"My  girl,  youse  could  put  twenty-seven  Houstons 
into  Chicago,  an'  she'd  holler  fer  a  couple  ov  St.  Louises 
to  finish  out  her  breakfas'  on." 

"Lord,  I'd  like  to  see  dat  town!  Got  any  colored 
folks  dar?" 

"Got  any?  W'y,  say,  Julie,  Chi  is  de  place  where 
colored  folks  blossoms.  W'y,  say,  girl,  spouse  youse 
was  there  broke  to-day,  in  six  months  youse  'ud  have 
on  glad  rags  and  be  flashin'  real  gems.  Well,  I  should 
say  there  is  niggers  in  Chi." 

"I'd  gib  a  heap  to  see  dat  town.  I  never  did  see 
but  jus'  one  colored  pusson  from  dat  town,  an'  he  cer- 
tingly  was  'bout  the  gayes'  proposition  ever." 

During  this  speech,  Mickey  was  eyeing  the  girl  keen 
ly.  He  had  determined  that  a  nurse  would  be  neces 
sary  on  their  trip  North,  and  he  wanted  to  take  Julia 
for  two  reasons.  She  was  practically  the  only  link  that 
connected  those  in  the  little  cottage  to  the  rest  of  the 
town,  besides,  she  had  been  with  them  long  enough  for 
him  to  believe  she  could  be  depended  upon.  Drawing  a 
wad  of  bills  from  his  pocket,  he  displayed  them  before 
the  eyes  of  the  astonished  girl. 

"Lord,  boy,  where  you  get  all  dat  money?"  she  de 
manded. 

"W'y  it  grows  in  our  fambly,  Julie.  I  carries  all  de 
dough  for  dis  establishment,  an'  when  youse  wants 
'money,  Julie,  jist  talk  to  me.  Now  I  wants  t'  know 
was  yer  kiddin'  w'en  youse  sed  youse  wanted  t'  see 
Chicago,  'cause  if  youse  wasn't,  w'y  I'll  take  yer  'long 
with  the  rest  of  us.  We  moves  next  week." 

"Course  I  wants  to  see  it  near.  Reckon  I  hain't  got 
no  ambitions?  I  hain't  none  of  your  low-down  trash." 

"All  right,  Julie,  it's  a  go.  An'  say,  when  we  gets 
settled  in  th'  city,  I'll  give  youse  a  hundred  plunks 
extra." 


376"  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

He  counted  the  bills  off  his  roll  and  held  them  be 
fore  her  eyes.  "A  hundred  plunks  extra,  if  youse  do 
as  I  tells  yer  whilst  we  is  a-gittin'  there." 

"All  dat  money  and  my  wages,  too?" 

"Sure  t'ing,  I  ain't  no  piker,"  he  protested. 

"Golly,"  the  girl  chorused,  "I  ain't  goin'  to  wait  no 
six  months  after  I  hits  dat  town  'fore  I  puts  on  my  glad 
clothes." 

****** 

"Fo'  de  Lord,  man,  come  in  and  see  what  ails  mis 
sus."  Julia's  frightened  face  appeared  at  the  back  door. 
Mickey  straightened  up  from  his  task  at  the  wheel 
barrow  and  ran  to  the  house,  pushing  past  the  colored 
girl,  who  stood  trembling  in  the  doorway;  he  ran  on 
to  Estella's  room. 

"Stop  it !     Stop  it  t'  oncet !"  he  screamed. 

The  woman  looked  up,  smiling.  "See — doesn't  she 
look  funny,  see  how  her  tongue  hangs  out  and  her  eyes 
roll?" 

"I  thought  youse  -wanted  to  make  an  angel  of  her." 
He  took  the  baby  from  Estella's  lap  and  she  offered  no 
resistance.  "Here,  Julie,"  he  called,  and  when  the  girl 
came  haltingly  into  the  room,  he  put  the  baby  into  her 
arms.  "Run  into  the  back  yard  an'  see  if  youse  can't 
git  some  breath  into  it." 

"Didn't  she  look  funny?" 

Mickey  looked  into  the  smiling  face  and  sickened. 
What  could  he  do?  The  mother  demented,  the  baby 
in  constant  danger  of  death  and  he  loved  both  with  all 
the  love  of  a  starved  soul  denied  other  outlet  for  its 
passion, 

"Oh,  missus,  you  mustn't  never  do  that  no  more. 
We  wants  to  make  a'  angel  outer  th'  baby."  An  inspir 
ation  came  to  him,  "an',"  he  explained,  "missus,  if  you 
was  to  kill  it,  choke  it  that  way,  why  it  'ud  turn  inter 
a  devil  an'  haunt  youse,  haunt  youse,"  he  repeated  as 
the  mad  woman  hid  her  eyes  and  shuddered.  "Youse 
mustn't  hurt  it.  We  can't  never  make  no  angel  of  it  if 
it's  hurted." 

"I've  seen  a  devil."  Estella  caught  him  by  the  arm 
and  gripped  it  until  he  winced.  "He  looked  like,  this," 
her  face  took  on  the  murderous  look  he  had  seen  Joel 
wear  as  he  bent  over  her,  "and  he  choked — choked. 


SHE   WANTS   AN    ANGEL  377 

Do  you  know  him?"  she  demanded,  staring  into  his 
eyes. 

"I  knows  him.  If — "  Mickey  twisted  out  of  her 
grasp — "If  youse  don't  want  th'  devil  t'  come  back 
an'  choke  youse  agin,  don't  youse  hurt  that  baby  no 
more." 

"It  isn't  my  baby,  you  funny  little  twisted  man.  It 
isn't  my  baby,"  she  sat  down  laughing. 

"No,  it  ain't  your  baby.  I  knows  that,  but  we  kind 
of  got  to  take  it  'long  t'  Chi  so  t'  get  it  made  inter 
a'  angel,  ain't  we?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  had  almost  forgotten — I  do  so  want  an 
angel." 

"Course  youse  do,  an'  didn't  I  steal  this  here  baby 
purpose  t'  take,  an'  isn't  it  goin'  t'  make  a  beautiful 
angel?  But  don't  youse  choke  it  no  more  er  I'll  send 
th'  devil  back.  Youse  mind  what  I  say."  He  left  her 
sitting  there  repeating,  "I'll  mind.  I'll  mind." 

He  went  out  to  find  Julia  working  over  the  baby. 

"Man,  am  dat  woman  crazy?"  she  demanded.  "If 
she  are,  I  don't  go  to  no  Chicago,  an'  dat's  a  fac'." 

The  baby  lay  whimpering  in  her  lap,  while  a  sorely 
perplexed  philosopher  walked  the  length  of  the  room.  As 
he  walked,  Mickey  debated  whether  or  not  he  should 
tell  the  girl  the  truth.  In  the  end,  he  constructed  a 
compromise.  The  girl  watched  his  every  movement 
keenly,  eaten  with  a  desire  for  the  things  she  dreamed 
the  great  city  could  give  her,  a  city  in  the  land  where 
her  people  were  really  free.  She  still  had  a  great  dread 
of  crazy  people,  and  was  ready  to  bolt  at  the  next 
alarm. 

Mickey  halted  in  front  of  her.  "Yes,  she's  crazy  as 
a  bedbug  to-day."  The  girl  nodded.  "We  had  a  doctor 
in  th'  night  an'  he  says  she'll — she'll  be  all  right  agin  as 
soon's  we  gits  her  home.  She's  bin  through  a'  awful 
lot  of  trouble,  jist  when  her  man  is  t'  come,  we  gets 
a  message  last  night  that  he's  killed — an'  that  puts  her 
off  her  trolley,  see?"  Another  nod  from  Julie.  "Now 
this  medical  guy,  he  says  fer  us  t'  pull  our  freight  t' 
oncet — hit  th'  grit  an'  git  her  back  home  an'  she'll  be 
O.  K."  He  heard  a  step  and  turned  to  see  Estella 
with  her  arms  outstretched. 


MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"Oh,  there's  my  precious  darling,"  she  sobbed  and 
threw  herself  before  the  frightened  girl. 

Mickey  went  from  red  to  gray,  from  gray  to  white, 
as  the  mother  took  her  baby's  face  in  her  hands.  With 
a  cry  of  anger,  she  turned  to  him;  "See!  see!"  she 
shrieked,  "see  where  his  cruel  ringers  caught  her  throat ! 
My  God,  he  tried  to  kill  her,  and  he  her  father!"  She 
sprang  from  her  knees,  her  eyes  sane  and  burning  with 
an  awful  purpose.  "Take  me  where  I  can  but  put  my 

hands  on  him,  Mickey — as  God  is  my  judge,  I'll  kill " 

she  staggered  and  fell  headlong  to  the  floor. 

"Quick,  Julie,  quick,  let's  get  her  to  bed.  She'll  be 
all  right  when  she  comes  out  of  it ;  th'  doc  sed  it  would 
be  this  here  way." 


CHAPTER  X. 


LETTERS  AND  COMMENT. 

Paris, 

Dear  Mamie — We  are  living  in  regal  splendor.  Every 
thing  the  finest.  You  will  doubtless  remember  that  I  had 
some  doubts  when  I  started  out  on  this  world-seeing  expedi 
tion.  I  was  ever  so  little  afraid  that  my  Angel  wouldn't  stand 
to  be  milked — but,  the  Lord  bless  you,  when  I  curl  up  128 
pounds  of  live  woman  in  his  lap,  put  my  arms  around  his 
neck  and  play  with  the  lobe  of  his  right  ear — why,  child,  he 
gives  down  gold,  bank  notes,  diamonds  and  pearls  as  a  Jersey 
gives  creamy  milk. 

Take  my  word  for  it,  Mamie  dear,  every  mother's  son  of 
them — the  men — have  a  spot  the  tickling  of  which  will  surely 
hypnotize  them.  My  Old  Iron  Angel's  vulnerable  spot  is  the 
afore-mentioned  lobe  of  a  big,  outstanding  red  ear. 

He's  chucked  the  iron  business  and  we  are  going  into  re 
tirement.  Keep  the  house  intact,  Mamie,  and  hunt  for  the 
lobe  of  a  rich  right  ear — but  get  one  that  is  nice  and  lays 
close  to  the  head. 

Some  day  my  longing  for  the  fleshpots  of  home  is  going 
to  overcome  my  avarice — and  when  that  day  comes,  steam 
won't  be  able  to  carry  me  fast  enough. 

Mamie,  I  wish  you  would  find  out  what  Jim  Gardner  is 
doing,  and  write  me.  I  laughed  at  you  once  because  you 
said  the  man  you  loved  could  do  anything  he  pleased  with 
you — even  after  he  had  deserted  you.  Well,  I  won't  laugh  any 
more.  Write  me  about  Jim. 

If  the  Founders'  Trust  don't  fail  in  the  meantime  we  will 
reach  Italy  and  be  doing  Rome  by  the  time  this  reaches  you. 

If  Florence  is  having  trouble  with  her  lungs  again,  give 
her  a  hundred,  tell  her  to  give  Shifty  the  slip  and  take  a 
rest.  Yours,  with  love,  Fly. 

Chicago,  ,  19 . 

Dear  Flo — Your  Paris  letter  came  through  all  right  and 
the  envelope  looked  like  some  of  the  suit-cases  once-overs  are 
so  anxious  to  show  us — all  stamped  up  on  both  sides  and 
ends.  I'm  glad  for  your  sake  that  the  Iron  Angel  is  liberal — 
I  haven't  discovered  the  right  lobe  as  yet — guess  they  are 
built  differently. 

I  intended  to  write  you  a  week  ago,  when  something  hap 
pened.  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  the  story,  but  must  tell 

379 


380  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

you  that  I  have  taken  a  whole  family,  father  excepted,  into 
your  establishment.  And  one  member  of  that  family  owns 
us  all — even  Big  Jack,  the  new  janitor — the  old  one  is  sick. 
Well,  Jack  has  surrendered  unconditionally.  You'll  know 
more  about  it  when  I  tell  you  what  Jack,  as  black  a  fellow 
as  you  ever  saw.  said  after  his  surrender.  "Miss  Mamie,"  he 
said,  "hain't  dis  a  'culiar  place  t'  hab  er  baby  in  hit?"  His 
big  eyes  stood  out  and  he  looked  as  solemn  as  a  judge. 
"Course  I  hain't  a-meanin'  no  disrespec'  t'  you-all,  but  hit  do 
seem  mighty  'culiar — I  hain't  neber  seed  no  babies  round  a 
house  like  dis  heah,"  he  went  on — there,  it's  out,  and  I  feel 
better. 

You  will  remember  that  crippled  little  Irish  fellow, 
Mickey?  Say,  he's  pure  gold — and  all  the  way  through.  He 
brought  the  baby,  her  mother  and  a  colored  girl  all  the  way 
from  Texas,  and  plumped  them  in  on  me.  When  he  told  me 
how  hard  pressed  he  was  and  the  awful  things  both  he  and 
the  mother  had  been  through,  and  added  that  if  you  were 
at  home  there  wouldn't  be  any  talk  of  the  mother  having 
to  leave  the  house  until  she  was  able  to  take  care  of  her 
self — well,  I  surrendered,  first  to  the  baby,  then  to  the  mother. 
The  colored  girl  only  stayed  two  days,  when  she  was  whisked 
away  by  one  of  her  own  tribe,  and  we  haven't  seen  her  since. 
Flo,  when  you  come  home  you  may  fire  them,  but  you  want 
to  hurry  or  you  won't  see  the  mother.  She's  going  to  die. 
Now,  tell  me  that  you  would  have  done  just  as  I  did.  They 
have  plenty  of  money,  so  I  judge  the  man  in  the  case  must 
have  been  rich. 

Now,  a  word  about  Jim.  I  had  Snively  up  here  and 
pumped  him  dry.  Jim  took  to  plunging  as  soon  as  you  left 
town.  I  believe  I  told  you  that  before — anyway,  he  made  a 
killing,  and  has  been  playing  in  big  luck  ever  since.  He's 
bought  stock  in  some  telephone  scheme  and  is  trying  to  put 
it  through  the  Council,  though  what  he  can  want  to  put 
through  is  more  than  I  know,  and  Snively  only  looked  supe 
rior  and  intimated  that  too  much  knowledge  would  be  a  dan 
gerous  thing  when  I  asked  him. 

Snively  swears  Jim  has  not  looked  at  a  woman  since  you 
left — and  if  he  has  made  a  pile,  you  can  guess  he  has  had 
plenty  of  opportunity  to  forget  his  troubles. 

Sure,  I'll  keep  the  house  warm  for  you,  and  I  hope  the 
good  news  I  send  you  will  cause  you  to  forgive  me  for  tak 
ing  a  family  to  raise. 

Come  home  and  I'll  tell  you  the  third  of  a  long  story. 
Estella — that's  the  mother — will  tell  another  third  if  she's 
alive  and  in  her  right  mind,  but  the  most  interesting  part  of 
the  story  will  doubtless  be  contributed  by  Mickey.  With  love, 

Mamie. 

Chicago,  ,  19 . 

Dear  Brother — You  will  doubtless  be  surprised  at  receipt 
of  this  letter,  but  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  write  you  upon  a  very 


LETTERS  AND  COMMENT  381 

delicate  subject.  I  trust  that  you  will  understand  the  spirit 
in  which  I  write.  I  also  hope  that  you  will  heed  my  sugges 
tion  and  return  home  as  soon  as  possible. 

Well,  I  suppose  I  have  at  least  succeeded  in  awakening 
something  of  curiosity  in  the  region  from  which  you  draw 
your  amazing  business  ability,  even  tho'  you  are  a  man.  So 
I  might  as  well  go  straight  to  the  point  and  have  it  over 
with. 

Beatrice  is  in  grave  danger.  I  intended  to  convey  in  the 
underscored  words  all  that  I  mean,  but  I  find  that  I  have 
failed.  She  has  gone  beyond  my  control.  Frankly,  brother, 
she  has  surrounded  herself  with  a  set  of  advisers  who  are 
dangerous  Socialists,  labor  agitators,  a  female  doctor,  and  a 
couple  of  old-maid  schoolma'ams  who  have  undertaken  to 
mother  the  world.  I  have  done  my  best  to  bring  her  to  a 
realization  of  the  nico  distinction  that  must  ever  be  drawn 
between  the  aristocrat  and  the  mere  laborer.  And  what 
do  you  suppose  her  reply  was?  "Why,  Aunt  Nell,  I  thought 
you  were  the  radical  of  our  family."  The  women  of  my 
family  are  given  credit  with  being  quick  to  turn  a  speech, 
but  I  must  confess  that  for  once  I  was  nonplused.  You  will 
laugh,  but  I  didn't;  neither  was  I  able  to  explain  to  Beatrice's 
satisfaction.  I  fear  there  is  somewhat  more  of  a  chill  in 
your  home  than  the  condition  of  the  weather  warrants  me  in 
feeling.  I  sincerely  trust  that  your  return  will  not  be  long 
delayed.  Joel  came  home  not  long  since,  looking  troubled, 
and  I  having  this  letter  in  mind,  sought  to  get  a  little  infor 
mation  from  him  touching  his  business,  but  to  little  purpose. 
He  seems  morbid.  Now,  brother,  you  doubtless  are  surprised 
that  I  am  objecting  to  Beatrice's  taking  up  with  things  I 
once  loved  to  orate  over  before  women's  clubs  and  certain 
other  "functions,"  but  if  you  will  think  back  you  will  doubt 
less  remember  that  I  was  rich  in  those  days.  Besides,  the  en 
tertaining  of  an  avowed  anarchist  Prince  was  a  bold  piece 
of.  originality;  while  to  talk  the  "brotherhood  of  man,"  "the 
golden  rule  against  the  rule  of  gold,"  or  have  a  choice  bunch 
of  reformers  on  one's  bounty  list  was  the  very  height  of  ec 
centric  originality.  Yes,  brother,  I  paraded  my  reforms,  tried 
to  tame  the  revolutionists  and  pull  the  fangs  of  my  anarchist 
Prince,  but  all  the  time  I  realized  that  they  and  their  brood 
were  not  numerous  enough  to  be  dangerous.  It  is  different 
to-day,  and  therefore  I  am  different.  So  Beatrice  believes  me 
a  hypocrite,  and  I  am  distressed.  I  would  add  a  whereas 
and  a  resolution  or  two  to  this  if  I  were  not  afraid  that  you 
would  laugh  at  me  even  after  your  return.  Physically,  we  are 
in  splendid  health.  I  must  add  that  Beatrice  seems  to  be  en 
joying  her  flirtation  with  the  red  revolution  to  the  limit. 
Yours  in  trouble,  Nell  Bishop. 

The  Hon.  Horace  Holdon,  Paris,  France. 

As  this  letter  indicates,  Aunt  Nell  was  acting  a  part 
when  she  received  her  title  of  "Radical,"  and  she  could 
afford  it  then.  When  her  husband  had  lost  his  millions 


382  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

to  some  craftier  speculators,  and  she  was  forced  back 
to  a  position  in  the  ranks  of  "poor  relatives"  hanging 
in  economic  uncertainty  upon  the  skirts  of  the  so-called 
respectable  world,  she  could  no  longer  afford  to  play 
with  "radicalism"  and  even  "reform"  was  unsafe.  It  is, 
therefore,  little  to  be  wondered  at  that  Beatrice,  who 
moves  only  as  her  conscience  prompts  and  is  constantly 
educating  that  conscience  to  examine  more  closely  the 
principles  involved  in  the  problems  that  confront  her, 
should  come  to  detest  this  shallow  woman  who  has 
played  with  the  fire  of  truth  while  living  a  lie. 

"Have  you  no  faith  in  the  working  people?"  she 
had  asked  her  aunt  one  day,  shortly  after  her  arrival, 
and  after  they  had  had  some  little  argument. 

"Faith  in  them,  child !  Why,  certainly,  I  have  faith 
in  them.  They  will  work  to-morrow  and  I  will  both 
drive  and  eat." 

"Oh,  aunt,  that  sounds  so  brutal.  Where  did  you 
learn  it?"  Beatrice  had  asked,  and  she  long  remembered 
the  expressive  shrug,  her  only  answer. 


CHAPTER  XL 

ANNOUNCING   THE   COMING   OF    MR.    WM.   ABNER. 

Joel  Holdon  had  been  dead  but  a  week  when  a  letter 
arrived  at  the  office  of  the  Holdon  Company — a  letter 
that  had  been  forwarded  from  the  Eagle  Club.  Price 
looked  at  it,  and  noticed  the  return  which  gave  an 
Oakland,  California,  address,  then  thrust  it  into  a 
drawer  and  forgot  all  about  it  until  two  days  later, 
when  another  letter  carrying  a  special  delivery  stamp 
was  handed  him  by  a  messenger.  He  looked  at  the 
address,  then  at  the  return,  and  thought  of  the  letter  he 
had  put  away.  Instructing  the  messenger  to  go  to  the 
Holdon  residence,  and  take  both  letters  with  him,  he 
dismissed  the  matter. 

That  afternoon  he  was  called  to  the  phone  and  after 
a  time  returned  to  his  desk  muttering:  "It's  funny 
how  some  young  fellows  with  money  manage  to  stay  in 
one  place  over  night.  Now,  this  Joel  is  certainly  a 
peach,  and  to  hear  his  sister  tell  how  anxious  she  is 
about  his  whereabouts  one  would  think  he  had  never 
done  a  thing  in  the  world  but  write  her  letters." 

Four  days  after  Price  had  talked  with  Beatrice  over 
the  phone  another  letter  came  to  his  desk,  bearing  the 
Oakland  return,  and  this  time  directed  to  the  Honorable 
Horace  Holden.  Price  turned  it  over  in  his  hands,  and 
at  the  same  time  turned  it  over  in  his  mind.  What 
would  he  do  with  it?  Evidently  the  party  who  wrote 
it  wanted  to  be  put  in  touch  with  Joel,  and  if  he  for 
warded  it  to  Holdon  it  would  finally  come  back  to  him 
for  answer.  Why  not  have  it  over  with  at  once?  He 

would When  he  had  read  the  letter  he  threw  it  on 

the  desk  and  sat  with  his  face  in  his  hands  for  a  time: 
"Now  what  in  the  name  of  all  the  saints  could  have 
happened  to  the  fool.  Wonder  if  he  found  some  other 
woman  on  the  way  out  there  and  ran  off  with  her?  It 
would  be  just  like  him.  Guess  I  had  better  call  up— 

383 


384  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

no,   that   won't   do.  There   is   no   use   of  having  her 

worrying   about  the  chump.     Guess   I   had  better  put 

Martin  on  the  case.  Then  write  a  full  explanation  to 
Holdon." 


The  politicians  in  the  world  of  "Big  Business"  had 
known  for  some  time  that  the  Honorable  Horace  Holdon 
was  to  withdraw  from  activity  in  the  affairs  of  the  trust 
he  had  helped  to  build  up,  and  would  stand  for  nomina 
tion  as  their  candidate  for  mayor,  and  use  that  office 
as  a  stepping  stone  to  things  higher,  but  Price  knew 
nothing  of  it.  So  the  announcement  that  Mr.  Wm. 
Abner,  of  Cleveland,  Ohio,  would  arrive  within  the 
week  to  take  full  charge  of  the  Chicago  plant,  and  also 
take  up  the  duties  of  the  presidency,  came  to  him  as  a 
bolt  from  the  blue. 

On  the  heels  of  this  announcement  came  a  letter 
from  the  Corporations'  Protective  Association  that  fair 
ly  scorched  the  paper  upon  which  it  was  written.  The 
letter  informed  the  reader  that,  as  they  had  been  un 
able  to  get  anything  approaching  satisfactory  replies  to 
their  letters  for  several  weeks  past,  they  had,  upon 
notification  of  the  election  of  Mr.  Wm.  Abner  to  the 
management  of  the  Chicago  branch,  furnished  that 
gentleman  with  a  full  and  detailed  report  covering 
their  relations  with  the  Holdon  Company,  and  he  had 
promised  a  thorough  investigation  upon  his  arrival  in 
Chicago.  The  letter  closed  with  the  statement  that  the 
three  men  who  had  been  sent  to  the  Holdon  Company 
had  prepared  a  supplementary  report,  and  this  had  been 
placed  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Abner.  The  intimation 
being  that  they  had  informed  Mr.  Wm.  Abner  that  they 
considered  it  both  unsafe  and  unwise  to  trust  anything 
of  a  confidential  nature  to  the  Holdon  Company  while 
he  (Price)  was  in  charge. 

He  was  still  smarting  under  the  lash  wielded  by 
the  caustic  secretary  of  the  "Protective"  when  Martin 
was  announced. 

"We've  run  the  last  clue  to  earth,  Mr.  Price,  and 
as  far  as  we  can  find  out,  Joel  jumped  off  the  earth  at 
Kansas  City,"  was  the  detective's  salutation  as  he  took 
a  chair. 

"Did  he  go  there?" 


ANNOUNCING  THE  COMING  OF  WM.  ABNER  385 

"Oh,  yes,  he  went  there  all  right.  He  registered  at 
the  Grand,  but  he  left  the  hotel  within  a  day  and 
dropped  out  of  sight.  Our  people  are  still  on  the  case, 
but  we  ought  to  have  some  one  on  the  ground  who 
knew  him.  If  he  was  done  for  it  was  a  slick  job.  You 
don't  think  he  put  himself  away,  do  you?" 

"Not  him,"  Price  declared.  "He  was  having  too 
much  fun;  besides,  he  was  to  have  been  married." 

"Another  woman  in  the  case?"  Martin  asked 
quickly.  v 

"There  may  have  been  a  dozen — but  not  one,"  the 
other  replied  seriously. 

"Then  that's  all  right.  But  say,  we  can't  go  much 
farther  without  all  the  facts.  When  can  we  have 
them?" 

"I'll  have  to  consult  another  party  before  I  can  tell 
you,"  Price  affirmed,  and  closed  the  interview. 

"Now  I'm  in  a  devil  of  a  hole,"  Price  informed  him 
self  as  he  sat  at  the  desk  after  Martin  had  gone.  "Con 
found  the  man  who  said  wheat  couldn't  go  down.  Con 
found  the  wheat  pit  and  all  the  rest  of  it!  And  here, 
before  I  have  any  chance  to  make  good,  a  new  presi 
dent  is  to  be  dumped  in  on  me.  Why  in  blazes  didn't 
Holdon  tell  me?  Did  he  want  to  catch  me  napping? 
The  next  thing  will  be  to  check  me  up,  and  when  that 
is  done  I  can  see  my  finish.  Damn  that  Corporations' 
Protective.  If  it  has  any  weight  with  him,  I  see  where 
I  get  out,  even  without  their  looking  into  the  books. 
Another  nice  thing  for  this  Mr.  Abner  to  get  hold  of  is 
my  settlement  with  the  unions,  and  their  growth  in  this 
plant  since  Holdon  left." 

"By  ,  I'll  do  it.     And  when  I  get  him  here  I'll 

paint  millions  in  the  picture  of  the  Harris  Machine  I 
show  him.  I'll  hold  this  new  president  off  until  Holdon 
arrives;  pad  my  expense  account  enough  to  let  me  out, 
and  finally  hold  my  job  through  my  pull  with  the  Hon 
orable  himself.  Wonder  if  I  hadn't  better  put  another 
thousand  on  wheat  this  afternoon.  It  ought  to  come 
my  way  once  in  a  while." 

****** 

Mr.  William  Abner — a  self-made  man  of  fifty  years, 
without  unnecessary  luggage  in  the  way  of  flesh,  and 


386  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

with  a  superabundance  of  self-esteem,  stick-to-it-iveness, 
egotism,  and  a  general,  all  around  opinion  that  he  had 
earned  his  promotion  to  the  head  of  the  Founders'  Trust 
by  the  application  of  almost  superhuman  talents — arrived 
at  the  offices  of  the  Holdon  Company  one  bright  winter 
morning. 

"Please  take  my  card  to  your  superintendent,"  he 
commanded  the  young  man  who  happened  to  be  the  first 
to  catch  his  eye. 

The  young  man,  Moses  Webster,  read  the  card,  as  he 
slowly  made  his  way  to  Price's  office. 

"So  that's  the  new  president.  Looks  starchy  enough/' 
was  his  inward  comment.  Without  a  word,  he  laid  the 
card  on  the  desk. 

"What?  Eh— so  soon?  What's  he  like?"  Price  stam 
mered  as  he  caught  the  name. 

"Looks  like  the  finished  article,"  Moses  replied 
soberly. 

"Well,  show  him  in." 

After  the  formalities  were  over,  the  new  president 
plunged  into  a  cross-examination  of  the  superintendent, 
at  the  conclusion  of  which  he  announced  his  program. 

"I  never  trust  any  man,  Price,  and  I  believe  I  owe 
my  success  to  that  fact.  I  was  not  born  in  Missouri, 
still  I  have  to  be  shown.  You  admit  that  you  have  made 
Confidants  of  your  foremen;  that  a  clerk  in  the  office  is 
in  possession  of  practically  all  the  secrets  of  the  business. 
You  wouldn't  have  needed  to  tell  me  that.  The  report  of 
the  Protective  Association  makes  that  clear. 

"W-hy,  man  alive,  under  your  management,  this  busi 
ness  would  belong  to  the  men  inside  of  six  months.  Do 
you  know  what  the  devils  did  to  the  men  sent  out  here 
from  the  Protective  Association?" 

"I  have  guessed,"  Price  answered  in  a  low  voice. 

"Guessed?  Don't  you  know?"  Abner  asked,  con 
tempt  sticking  out  of  each  word.  "Well,  I'll  tell  you. 
They  were  half  killed  by  the  union  sluggers,  and  their 
reports  show  the  unions  could  never  have  caught  on,  ex 
cept  through  a  leak  from  your  office.  Now  the  first  thing 
I  am  going  to  do  after  I  have  our  auditor  check  you  up, 
will  be  to  fire  all  the  confidants  you  have  in  the  plant, 
also  the  confidential  clerk.  How  soon  can  you  have 


ANNOUNCING  THE  COMING  OF  WM.  ABNER  387 

things  in  shape  for  the  auditor?"  he  demanded,  switch 
ing  the  subject  suddenly. 

"Why,  why,  not  until  Mr.  Holdoa  comes/'  Price  man 
aged  to  say. 

"Not  until  Mr.  Holdon  comes,  and  pray  tell  me,  what 
Mr.  Holdon  has  to  do  with  my  checking  up  this  branch 
of  the  business  ?" 

The  new  president's  assumption  of  superiority  came 
from  his  lips,  but  it  emanated  from  his  whole  person,  and 
to  such  a  degree  that  Price  lost  his  temper. 

"It  strikes  me,"  he  retorted,  "that  for  a  stranger,  you 
assume  too  much,  even  though  you  are  to  manage  this 
business." 

"That  will  do,  that  will  do,  Mr.— Mr.— " 

"Price,  if  you  please." 

"Price  then.  You  have  been  superintendent  of  this 
plant  quite  too  long  already,  and  your  impudence,  sir, 
your  unwarranted  impudence  compels  me  to  anticipate  by 
several  days  the  date  I  had  fixed  upon  for  your  removal. 
You  may  consider  your  services  here  at  an  end." 

Mr.  Abner  stood  to  deliver  the  last  half  of  his  speech, 
and  made  it  impressive  by  an  all  too  evident  anger. 

Price  sat  white  and  cool.  He  knew  that  the  outcome 
of  the  game  he  played  depended  upon  two  factors,  Hol 
don  and  time. 

"And  suppose  I  refuse  to  turn  this  plant  over  to  you, 
until  I  am  ordered  to  do  so  by  Mr.  Holdon?"  Price 
reached  for  a  cigar. 

"Suppose  you  do,"  Mr.  Abner's  voice  rasped,  "and 
again,  suppose  you  don't !  My  man," — he  shook  a  threat 
ening  fist  at  the  superintendent — "your  bluff  is  an  in 
sult,  an  insult,  sir!  I  am  president  of  this  whole  in 
dustry,  and  manager  of  this  individual  plant." 

Price  nodded.  "Exactly,  but  it  happens  that  Mr. 
Holdon's  interests  cannot  be  protected  if  I  turn  the  busi 
ness  over  to  you  to-day,  and  as  he  has  not  notified  me  to 
put  you  in  charge,  why "  He  smiled  up  at  the  dap 
per,  little  man.  "I  must  decline  to  comply  with  your 
request.  I  would  strongly  advise  you  to  defer  to  my 
wishes  in  the  matter." 

"I  shall  see  our  attorneys,  sir.  I  strongly  suspect 
something  crooked  here,"  the  little  man  fumed. 

"And  tell  them  that  the  superintendent  refused  to  let 


388  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

you  play  "bull  in  the  china  shop  with  this  business,"  Price 
sneered.  "Do  so  by  all  means.  They  will  tell  you  that 
I  am  the  manager  of  this  plant,  and  am  well  within  my 
right,  when  I  refuse  to  turn  the  'business  over  to  you  or 
any  other  man." 

"But  I  tell  you,  I  was  elected  manager  of  this  plant, 
and  I  propose  to  manage  it." 

"You  forget  that  your  election  would  not  stand  a 
test  in  the  courts  any  more  than  would  the  Founders' 
Trust.  I  do  not  forget,  and  my  duty  is  plainly  to  pro 
tect  the  majority  stockholder's  interests  here,  until  such 
time  as  he.  relieves  me  of  the  responsibility." 

Price's  attitude  of  virtuous  solicitation  for  the  in 
terests  of  the  powerful  Mr.  Holdon  began  to  take  lodg 
ment  in  the  mind  of  the  new  president. 

"I  declare,  I  declare,"  he  ejaculated,  seating  himself. 
"This  is  an  extraordinary  situation.  You  really  mean  to 
tell  me,  the  president,  that  you  will  not  allow  me  to  as 
sume  control  here  until  Mr.  Holdon  authorizes  you  to 
do  so." 

"Exactly,  Mr.  Abner,"  Price  faced  the  little  man, 
"and  when  he  does,  you  can  check  the  business  up,  and 
begin  firing — commencing  with  me,  of  course,"  he  added. 

"Well,  well,  well,  I've  been  in  business  for  years,  and 
thought  I  knew  every  kink  and  turn  in  the  game,  but 
I've  learned  a  new  one." 

"Would  you  care  to  visit  the  plant  and  get  acquaint 
ed?"  Price  questioned,  convinced  that  he  had  won  his 
point,  and  sensible  of  the  fact  that  to  press  it  too  far, 
might  result  in  shipwrecE 

"Why,  yes,  I  suppose  I  might  as  well.  When  will 
Mr.  Holdon  arrive  ?"  Abner  asked  as  they  got  .up. 

"I  cabled  him  a  week  ago,  and  expect  him  within 

two  weeks,"  Price  replied,  and  they  went  to  the  shops. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

"Arrive  in  New  York,  2Oth.    Telegraph  news. 

"Holdon." 

Price  and  Charley  Harris  were  seated  in  the  rooms 
over  "Shifty"  Smith's,  when  Price  produced  the  above 
telegram,  and  said :  "I  wired  him  to  meet  me  here  upon 
his  arrival,  and  I  will  want  you  to  be  here  to  explain  our 
work  to  him.  And  Harris,"  he  added,  "make  it  strong. 
He  took  a  fancy  to  you  at  first,  and  would  have  tried 


ANNOUNCING  THE  COMING  OF  WM.  ABNER  389 

your  machine  out  then,  if  I  hadn't  had  mine  in  my  'head." 

Two  days  later  Price  made  a  hurried  trip  to  the  lit 
tle  machine  shop  where  Harris  was  working  on  his  ma 
chine. 

"He'll  be  in  to-night  at  eight  o'clock,  and  I  want  you 
to  come  up,  come  up  the  back  way  about  ten  o'clock." 

He  looked  about  the  shop  for  a  time,  then  stood 
watching  the  mechanic  at  his  work. 

"How's  she  coming?"  he  asked,  idly  handling  a  pat 
tern. 

Charley  turned  a  beaming  face  to  him.  "Coming 
along  nicely,  Mr.  Price.  In  two  months  at  the  outside, 
I  can  have  it  ready  to  turn  out  a  mountain  of  castings 
a  day." 

"That's  good,  that's  good.  Just  keep  the  pace,"  he 
encouraged,  "and  you'll  land  a  millionaire." 

"Confounded  lucky  thing  I  tumbled  onto  old  Hoi- 
don's  political  aspirations,"  Price  told  himself  on  the 
way  back.  "If  he  won't  fix  things  at  the  plant  on  the 
strength  of  this  machine,  he'll  have  to  fix  them  to  save 
himself  a  little  bit  of  annoyance  I  might  cause  him  by 
putting  certain  parties  next  to  his  European  trip,  and 
some  of  his  property  holdings  downtown.  Oh,  I  guess 
he'll  come  across  all  right.  Then  Mr.  Abner  can  have 
his  management.  I'll  take  mine  along  with  politics  and 
this  new  moulding  machine." 

The  Honorable  Horace  Holdon  reached  Chicago  on 
schedule  time,  and  after  a  flying  trip  home,  went  down 
town,  in  spite  of  the  protest  of  both  Aunt  Nell  and 
Beatrice. 

"Well,  Price,  how  does  everything  look?  Your  wire 
frightened  me.  I  can't  think  what  that  boy  could  have 
done  with  himself,  and  I  didn't  want  to  come  home  for 
two  months." 

"Having  a  good  time?"  the  superintendent  inquired. 

"A  good  time,"  Holdon  leered  across  the  board. 
"Never  had  such  a  time  in  my  life.  But  about  Joel,"  the 
magnate's  face  showed  concern. 

"You'll  have  to  go  to  Kansas  City.  That's  the  last 
word  from  Martin.  I  sent  him  down  there  a  week  ago. 
I've  done  everything  money  could  do." 

"When  do  they  expect  me?" 

"As  soon  as  you  can  go.     I  took  it  upon  myself  to 


39O  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

inform  the  agency  that  you  would  be  there  day  after  to 
morrow.  And  they " 

"Say  that's  rather — well,  I  suppose  I  had  best  know 
all  about  it  as  soon  as  possible." 

At  this  point,  Price  proceeded  to  tell  Holdon  how  he 
had  taken  funds  out  of  the  Holdon  Co.'s  safe  to  meet 
the  detective's  charges,  and  then,  apparently  as  an  after 
thought,  said:  "And  by  the  way,  that  Harris  moulding 
machine  has  taken  a  pretty  penny,  and  of  course,  I  took 
that  out  of  the  safe,  too." 

"How  did  you  square  things  with  Mr.  Abner?"  Hol 
don  inquired  witJh  interest. 

"I  couldn't;  could  I,  without  exposing  your  connec 
tion  with  the  Harris  deal?''  Price  looked  depressed. 

"No,  that's  so,  and,  great  guns,  man !" — Holdon  was 
excited. 

"Oh,  I  fixed  it  all  right,"  Price  interrupted,  but  with 
a  long  face. 

"Fixed  it  with  Abner — why  that  prying,  long-nosed 
fox.  Say,  I'd  rather  have  Sherlock  Holmes  on  my  trail 
than  our  president." 

"Well,  when  I  tell  you  how  I  fixed  him,  you  can  let 
your  mind  rest."  Price  pulled  at  his  mustache. 

"Well,  out  with  it." 

"I  bluffed  him  out." 

"You  didn't  bluff  Abner?" 

A  look  of  unbelief  mingled  with  mirth,  sat  upon  Mr. 
Holdon's  countenance,  as  he  regarded  his  vis-a-vis. 

"Yes,  I  did.  He  demanded  that  I  check  up,  and  get 
out,  and  I  as  flatly  refused  to  do  so  until  you  should 
come,  and  relieve  me.  Told  him  I  -was  protecting  your 
interests,  and  wouldn't  give  up  my  position  as  manager 
until  you  released  me." 

"Say,  that  was  great.  How  did  he  take  it?  Stormed, 
didn't  he  ?"  The  magnate  seemed  to  relish  it  hugely. 

"Well,  yes,  you  might  say  he  stormed,  and  it's  been 
deuced  unpleasant  for  me." 

"Oh,  we'll  fix  all  that,"  Holdon  beamed.  Tomor 
row  morning  we'll  turn  the  plant  over  to  him,  and  I'll 
leave  you  a  check,  payable  to  Mr.  Abner.  If  I  am  not 
back  from  Kansas  City .  by  the  time  the  auditor  gets 
through.  He's  here,  isn't  he?" 


ANNOUNCING  THE  COMING  OF  WM.  ABNER  3QI 

"Yes,  he  got  here  the  day  after  Mr.  Abner  arrived, 
and  they  are  both  as  mad  as  wet  hens,"  Price  answered, 
with  a  light  heart. 

"Well,  as  I  was  saying,  I'll  leave  a  check,  and  when 
•they  get  the  cash  figured  up,  you  can  fill  in  the  sum  of 
the  shortage,  and  explain  that  you  drew  it  out  for  my 
private  account,  while  I  was  in  Europe.  That  will  fix 
it." 

"The  very  thing,  and  do  you  know,  I  never  thought 
of  that,  or  I  would  have  turned  the  office  over  to  them, 
and  told  them  that  you  would  draw  a  check  to  cover 
the  shortage." 

"Didn't  think  of  it,  eh  ?  Well,  you  did  very  well  as 
it  was,"  Holdon  commented,  well  pleased  that  Price  had 
held  out  against  the  redoubtable  Abner  and  the  au 
ditor. 

The  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  back  stair  claimed  the 
attention  of  both  men. 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Holdon,"  Price  hastened  to  ex 
plain.  "I  thought  you  might  want  to  verify  my  state 
ments  regarding  the  Harris  machine  by  having  a  talk 
with  Harris,  so  I  asked  him  to  come  up  about  'ten  o'clock, 
and  I  guess  he  is  coming." 

"Price,  you  made  a  mistake  there."  (A  knock  on  the 
door).  "Hurry  and  tell  him  I  didn't  come,  anything  to 
get  rid  of  him."  Price  showed  his  bewilderment,  and 
stood  looking  helplessly  at  his  employer. 

"Hurry,  man!     Don't  stand  there  staring." 

The  door  was  opened  a  crack,  and  Price  put  his  face 
to  the  opening.  "That  you,  Harris,"  he  whispered.  "Well, 
I'm  sorry  that  you  had  the  trip  for  nothing.  He  didn't 
come,  and  I  have  a  lady  visitor." 

"All  right.  Happy  dreams,"  Charley  replied,  and 
moved  away,  but  as  he  passed  the  window,  and  noticed 
that  the  shade  was  not  drawn  quite  to  the  bottom  he 
stooped  and  looked  into  the  room. 

"What  sort  of  game  is  this?"  he  muttered,  as  he 
caught  sight  of  the  Honorable  Horace  Holdon  standing 
at  the  farther  side  of  the  long  table.  "He  lied  to  me — I 
wonder  why?" 

"Is  he  gone?"  Holdon  inquired  in  a  stage  whisper. 
Price  put  his  finger  to  his  lips,  and  turned  to  the  door. 


392  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

He  had  been  listening,  and  failing  to  hear  descending 
footsteps,  concluded  that  Harris  was  still  at  the  door. 

Harris  could  not  see  Price,  but  from  Holdon's  atti 
tude  and  looks  concluded  that  they  suspected  him  of 
eavesdropping,  so  he  tiptoed  to  the  stairway  and  made 
an  unnecessary  amount  of  noise  as  he  went  hastily  down. 

"He's  gone,"  Price  whispered,  taking  his  place  at  the 
table. 

"You  should  not  have  had  him  come  up  here ;  not  to 
night  anyway.  One  man  is  enough  to  be  mixed  up  in 
the  business,  so  in  the  future  steer  him  clear  of  me.  I 
don't  want  to  see  him,  or  have  anything  to  do  with  it 
until  we  are  ready  to  close  up  the  business." 

"Very  well,  if  you  say  so,  but  you  know  I've  been 
telling  him,  just  to  jolly  him  along,  how  pleased  you 
would  be." 

"Well,  you  can  tell  him  to-morrow  that  I've  gone  to 
Kansas  City,  and  when  I  get  back  you  can  tell  him  I'm 
too  busy  to  see  him.  I'll  leave  this  matter  entirely  in 
your  hands." 

"But  how  about  it,  if  Abner  fires  me,  and  I  suppose 
he  will." 

"Why?  Oh,  I  see,  because  you  bluffed  him  out. 
Well  I'll  take  care  of  you.  You've  certainly  got  nerve, 
and  I'll  need  a  good  man  to  look  after  loose  ends,  from 
now  on.  Don't  worry.  I'll  look  out  for  you." 

When  Holdon  left,  Price  sat  for  a  long  time,  think 
ing  of  the  tangled  skein  of  life,  thinking  of  the  knotted 
snarl  that  had  been  straightened  out  so  easily  that  night. 

"Confound  it,  I  might  as  well  take  ten  thousand 
more,"  he  said  aloud,  "and  I  will,  if  he  gives  me  that 
check,  as  he  promised.  What's  the  difference?"  he  de 
manded  of  the  wine  bottle,  "by  the  time  he  gets  the 
check  back — if  he  sees  it  at  all — I'll  be  so  deep  in  his 
confidence,  and  he'll  be  so  deep  in  politics,  that  he  won't 
dare  to  peep.  And  won't  that  little  piece  of  congested 
self-conceit,  our  president,  get  a  surprise  at  nine  o'clock 
to-morrow  morning,  when  Mr.  Holdon  walks  in,  hands 
me  that  check,  and  orders  me  to  turn  the  plant  over  to 
Mr.  Abner.  Well,  I  should  think  so." 

The  next  morning  at  the  appointed  hour,  Mr.  Holdon 
was  announced,  at  the  close  of  a  very  unpleasant  half  hour 


ANNOUNCING  THE  COMING  OF  WM.  ABNER  393 

for  his  superintendent,  who  had  been  hard  pressed  by 
both  Mr.  Abner  and  the  auditor,  who  wanted  to  finish 
his  work  and  get  away. 

"Mr.  Holdon,  I'm  delighted  to  see  you,  delighted, 
because  if  anything  had  kept  you  from  appearing  here 
in  person,  I  am  satisfied  that  your  very  excellent  super 
intendent  would  have  compelled  us  to  go  to  the  courts, 
before  he  would  have  turned  the  business  over  to  us." 
Mr.  Abner  ended  his  remark  with  a  very  peculiar  smile 
in  the  direction  of  Price. 

"Quite  right,  quite  right,  Mr.  Abner.  I  assure  you 
he  did  just  what  I  would  have  had  him  do.  Protected 
my  interests  as  he  saw  them." 

Mr.  Holdon  was  not  averse  to  posing,  and  he  surely 
played  it  up  very  well,  as  he  pulled  out  his  bill-book, 
and  extracted  the  promised  check.  "There,  Mr.  Price, 
if  you  have  used  any  of  the  firm's  funds  for  my  private 
account,  and  I  conclude  that  you  have,  just  fill  in  the 
amount  and  turn  the  check  over  to  Abner." 

"Thanks,  Mr.  Holdon,"  Price  replied,  while  Mr. 
Abner  and  the  auditor  stared.  "I  suppose  I  am  released 
from  responsibility,  and  that  Mr.  Abner  and  the  auditor 
are  to  consider  themselves  in  charge." 

"Exactly,  and  gentlemen — "  Mr.  Holdon  turned  at 
the  door,  "I  must  beg  your  pardon  for  a  hasty  leave- 
taking,  but  I  am  called  to  Kansas  City.  When  I  return, 
I  shall  want  a  business  talk  with  you,  Mr.  Abner." 

Fingering  the  check,  and  smiling  blandly,  Price 
turned  to  Mr.  Abner. 

"My  dear  sir,"  he  said,  "you  are  now  in  full  posses 
sion  of  your  office,  and  I  desire  that  your  first  official 
act  shall  be  the  acceptance  of  my  resignation  as  manager 
and  superintendent." 

"Not  until  we  have  checked  up  the  office,"  the  au 
ditor  interposed. 

"As  you  will,  gentlemen.  If  not  now,  then  at  your 
pleasure." 

His  eyes  were  on  t'he  oblong  bit  of  paper  over  which 
he  drew  the  fingers  of  his  left  hand,  vaguely  wondering 
what  Holdon  would  say  when  he  next  saw  it. 

Within  an  hour  after  Holdon  had  left  the  office,  Price 
had  drawn  another  ten  thousand  from  the  funds  of  the 


394  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

firm.  As  soon  as  he  had  the  money  deposited  in  another 
bank  to  his  credit,  'he  entered  into  the  work  of  the  au 
ditor  with  a  vim  that  surprised  that  astute  official.  But 
it  would  not  have  surprised  him  could  he  have  known 
that  Price  wanted  the  work  finished  before  Holdon  re 
turned  from  Kansas  City,  in  order  that  he  might  get  the 
check  out  of  his  hands. 

"You  are  thirty  thousand  dollars  short,  ten  thousand 
of  it  drawn  yesterday."  The  auditor  looked  hard  at 
Price,  and  Abner  gasped,  "Thirty  thousand  dollars 
short.  So  that's" — but  he  got  no  further. 

"Gentlemen,"  Price  began,  "I  am  agreeably  surprised. 
I  thought  the  amount  would  touch  close  to  forty  thou 
sand.  You  see," he  looked  at  them  unblinkingly,"Mr.  Hol 
don  has  several  large  business  interests.  When  he  went 
to  Europe  he  gave  me  charge  of  some  of  them,  and  I 
drew  from  this  firm's  account  occasionally,  simply  as  a 
matter  of  convenience,  as  was  the  case  yesterday." 

He  got  up,  and  taking  the  balance  sheet  from  the  au 
ditor,  remarked:  "I  suppose  you  have  no  objection  to 
my  having  your  figures  verified,  before  I  fill  in  this 
check  for  the  amount  necessary  to  balance  cash  ?"  With 
out  waiting  a  reply,  he  took  the  sheet  out  to  Moses'  desk, 
and  asked  him  to  check  it  up  and  bring  it  back  to  the 
office. 

While  he  was  out,  the  auditor  stepped  over  to  his 
desk;  picked  up  the  Holdon  check;  looked  at  it  closely, 
and  remarked :  "Mr.  Holdon  evidently  has  implicit  con 
fidence  in  Mr.  Price." 

"Oh,  that  doesn't  necessarily  follow,"  Abner  replied. 

Then  Price  returned,  and  busied  himself  at  his  desk, 
sorting  papers  until  Moses  came  in. 

"The  footings  are  correct,"  he  announced,  laying  the 
sheets  on  Price's  desk. 

Without  a  word  the  latter  drew  the  check  toward 
him,  glanced  at  the  figures,  wrote  in  the  amount,  and 
handing  the  check  to  Mr.  Abner,  said :  "With  my  com 
pliments,  and  my  resignation." 

At  this  moment  a  messenger  entered  and  handed 
Price  a  telegram. 

"See  Judge  Terwill  to-morrow  without  fail.  Letter 
follows.  Two  clues. — Holdon." 


ANNOUNCING  THE  COMING  OF  WM.  ABNER  395 

"Letter  follows,  does  it?  Well  if  that  letter  contains 
the  things  it  should,  I'm  all  to  the  good  with  the  Hon 
orable  Horace  Holdon.  I'm  to  see  the  Judge.  I  wonder 
if  he  is  behind  Holdon's  political  ambitions."  Price 
folded  the  telegram,  put  a  few  personal  belongings  in  a 
grip  and  left  the  offices  of  the  Holdon  Company,  with 
out  a  word  of  farewell  to  any  one, 


CHAPTER  XII. 


AN    IRON    ANGEL. 

Florence,  Italy,  Jan.  20, •„ 

Dear  Mamie — My  Iron  Angel  has  gone,  and  by  the  time 
this  reaches  you  he,  too,  will  be  in  the  city  by  the  lake.  He 
didn't  insist  upon  my  accompanying  him,  though  he  did 
show  every  sign  of  emotion  at  parting,  and,  really,  I  felt 
mean  when  I  thought  how  I  had  written  you  of  his  outstand 
ing  red  ears. 

He  certainly  came  across  in  handsome  style  before  he  left 
me,  and  I  have  since  excused  myself,  to  myself,  for  loving 
him  half  to  death  after  he  gave  me  the  draft  on  a  bank  in 
Rome.  And  he  didn't  even  ask  me  to  be  good  while  he  was 
gone,  not  a  word.  Just  told  me  to  go  ahead  and  see  things 
as  we  had  planned.  But,  really,  I  am  tiring  of  the  endless 
procession  of  good  clothes  on  foreign  backs,  gold  braid  and 
shining  swords  on  local  dignitaries,  and  the  endless,  endless, 
ever-pressing,  ever-changing,  yet  always  the  same  mass  of 
fantastically  rag-clad,  begging  poor.  The  money  in  my  pocket 
fairly  burns  to  be  spent,  and  every  attempt  I  make  to  spend 
it  is  met  by  such  bold-faced,  smiling,  wheedling,  cajoling  liars 
and  extortioners  that  I  end  up  by  refusing  to  part  with  any 
of  my  coin. 

I  long  for  Chicago,  the  city  of  a  million  wonderful  things. 
And  if  this  gnawing  home-hunger  keeps  up  for  another  week, 
Fm  going  to  come;  in  fact,  I  feel  now  that  I  am  coming  to  go. 

Your  family  cares  do  not  worry  me  at  this  distance.  If 
your  conscience,  now  in  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf,  upholds 
you,  I  have  nothing  to  say  at  this  distance.  The  Lord  knows 
the  house  is  big  enough,  but  a  baby?  A  baby  in  a  house 
where  no  child  has  a  right  to  abide  by  any  law  written  or  un 
written,  a  baby,  Mamie!  But  there,  I  dare  not  judge;  when 
I  come  home  we  will  take  your  Mickey  and  your  mother,  and 
your  baby  Into  executive  session  and  decide  their  fate  in- 
stanter. 

So  Jim  plunged,  made  a  stake,  went  into  business,  and  is 
now  turning  his  matchless  talents  to  account  in  politics. 
Mamie,  the  one  trait  I  admired  above  all  others  in  Jim  Gard 
ner  was  his  honesty — he  was  square  with  men.  I  doubt  very 
much  whether  he  can  retain  his  honesty  and  succeed  in  Chi 
cago  politics.  But,  ai  yway,  I  was  glad  and  sorry;  somehow 
all  my  joys  are  half  of  sorrow.  You  didn't  mention  May  in 
your  last.  Is  she  better  or  worse? 

If  you  need  money,  don't  be  afraid  to  ask  for  it;  or  have 
you  still  a  few  dollars  left?  Your  homesick  Fly. 

396 


AN  IRON  ANGEL  397 

To  this  letter  Mamie  replied: 

Dear  Flo — We  have  been  living  with  death  in  the  house 
for  two  weeks  and  he  has  taken  his  victim  at  last. 

Bstella  had  not  been  here  a  week  when  she  became  so  ill 
that  we  felt  compelled  to  call  a  doctor,  your  doctor.  He  gave 
us  no  hope.  The  strangest  thing  about  her  was  that  she 
denied  that  she  ever  had  a  baby,  denied  it  from  the  day  she 
was  taken  sick.  And  do  what  we  would,  she  persisted  that 
the  baby  could  not  po&sibly  belong  to  her.  I  sent  for  Mickey 
and  he  said  she  had  been  the  same  way  in  Texas  and  suggest 
ed  that  we  keep  the  baby  away  from  her.  When  the  doctor 
made  his  first  call  Mickey  was  here,  and  I  told  the  doctor 
Mickey  could  tell  him  all  about  the  case;  and  whatever  pos 
sessed  him  I  don't  know,  but  he  asked  the  doctor  if  she  was 
going  to  die,  and  I  thought  he  would  faint  when  the  doctor 
said,  "Yes,  there  isn't  a  single  chance  for  her." 

Then  the  doctor  asked  him  if  she  didn't  have  a  baby,  and 
Mickey  said  she  had,  but  they  had  left  it  in  an  orphans' 
home  in  Missouri,  and  I  sat  there  and  let  him  lie.  When  the 
doctor  was  gone  I  asked  why  he  had  lied,  and,  would  you  be 
lieve  it,  he  said  if  he  had  told  the  doctor  the  truth  he  would 
have  had  some  old  hen  or  other  taking  the  baby  away,  and 
he  wanted  it  and  would  die  before  he'd  let  anybody  have  it. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  like? 

I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  tell  the  doctor,  and  I  guess 
my  looks  must  have  given  me  away,  for  Mickey  actually  went 
down  on  his  knees  and  begged  me  not  to  tell,  and  I  prom 
ised.  So  we  have  been  hiding  every  trace  of  the  baby,  and 
the  doctor  don't  suspect  a  thing. 

Long  before  this  reaches  you  we  will  have  had  a  funeral 
from  the  house. 

I  wish  you  were  here  to  help  me,  to  advise  just  what  to 
do  now  and  afterward  with  Mickey  and  the  baby.  The  colored 
girl  they  brought  from  Texas  has  gone. 

Later:  Mickey  brought  me  a  five-hundred-dollar  bill,  and 
asked  me  in  a  matter-of-fact  way  to  get  it  changed  for  him. 
When  I  looked  at  it,  then  at  him,  and  sat  absolutely  speech 
less,  he  looked  at  me  a  minute  as  solemn  as  a  judge  and 
said: 

"I  wish  Fly  Boyd  was  here.  She'd  know  how  to  help  a 
feller  without  all  the  time  a-lookin'  like  she  wanted  to  call  in 
the  bulls." 

Well,  I  took  that  bill  up  again. 

"It's  good,  all  right,  and  I  got  plenty  more;  enough  to 
keep  the  baby  an'  make  a  lady  of  her.  Are  youse  goin'  to~ 
get  it  busted  for  me?"  he  demanded,  and  I  still  sat  there  like 
a  fool. 

Finally,  I  came  to,  and  promised  to  get  it  "busted"  for 
him.  But,  what  do  you  think  of.  it?  I  do  wish  you  were 
here.  Mickey  would  tell  you  the  whole  story;  I  might  pump 
until  doomsday  and  get  nothing  but  a  string  of  lies  out  of 
him. 


398  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

Still  Later: — I  went  to  Jim  Gardner's  office  (yes,  he  has 
a,  swell  office  now)  and  asked  him  to  break  the  bill.  Say,  he 
turned  it  over  and  over.  He's  dead  in  love  with  you,  Flo.  He 
thought  he  knew  where  it  came  from.  "Holdon's  money,  is 
it?"  he  said,  and  looked  frightfully  wicked.  I  don't  know 
what  I  said,  but  he  asked:  "When  did  she  get  home?"  And 
I  wanted  to  know  who?  "Why,  Fly;  didn't  she  come  with 
old  Holdon?"  He  nearly  bit  my  head  off.  When  I  said:  "No, 
she  didn't;  she's  in  Florence,  Italy.  Want  to  send  a  word 
over?"  he  started  to  say  "yes,"  then  changed  his  mind  and 
changed  Mickey's  bill.  Yours  with  love,  Mamie. 

P.  S. — I  must  tell  you  how  our  visitor  died,  Flo.    I  must. 

Yesterday  morning  when  the  doctor  came  out  of  her  room 
we  stood  huddled  at  the  door.  I  started  to  enter  the  room 
and  he  caught  me  by  the  arm.  "Don't  go  in;  her  knight-er 
rant  is  with  her.  Let  him  have  her  all  to  himself  these  last 
few  minutes.  Come,"  he  added,  "let's  sit  down;  I  want  to 
ask  you  about  her.  I've  done  all  that  can  be  done." 

When  he  and  I  were  seated  in  the  big  front  parlor,  the 
doctor  asked:  "What  do  you  know  of  this  woman?"  I  re 
lated  the  circumstances  of  her  coming  to  the  house,  and  he 
said: 

"I  have  met  with  some  strange  experiences  in  my  practice, 
but  never  with  a  case  like  this.  That  Mickey  knows  more 
than  he  has  told  me,  I  am  satisfied;  but  that  l.e  does  not 
know  her  name,  I  am  sure.  They  tell  me  the  love  of  woman 
passes  understanding,  but  in  this  case  it's  the  love  of  a  man, 
a  big-hearted,  whole-souled  man  in  a  fearfully  abused  body, 
that  passes  understanding.  I  wish  I  knew  her  name.  My 
certificate  of  death  must  be  made  out,  and  it  must  bear  more 
than  the  name  of  Estella." 

Just  then  Jane  came  downstairs  sobbing.  We  ran  to  the 
door.  "Oh,  come,  she's  dying!"  the  girl  cried,  and  started 
back. 

When  we  entered  the  room  the  doctor  ran  to  the  bed  and 
lifted  Mickey,  a  dead  weight,  from  across  the  body  of  the 
woman  he  had  loved,  loyally,  honorably,  faithfully,  while  he 
might  serve  her.  Gently  we  laid  him  upon  the  divan,  and  the 
doctor  paid  a  man's  tribute  to  a  man  when  he  wiped  his  eyes 
and  went  back  to  the  bed. 

"Dead,"  he  whispered. 

Mickey  struggled  up  and  sat  wild-eyed,  looking  first  at 
one,  then  another  of  us,  as  he  said:  "She's  dead;  but  she 
knowed  me.  She  knowed  me."  Great  tears  rolled  down  over 
his  cheeks.  "She  said,  'Mickey,  I'm  so  glad  he  didn't  kill 
youse.' "  The  words  had  hardly  left  his  lips  when  he  realized 
what  he  had  said,  and,  shaking  off  his  emotion,  sat  staring 
straight  before  him. 

The  doctor  turned  to  him.  "Mickey,  won't  you  tell  me  her 
name?"  Mickey  started  and  sought  the  doctor's  eyes,  a 
troubled  look  on  his  face. 

"I  don't  dare  t'  tell  youse  th'  name  she  ought  to  have, 
Doc;  an'  afore  God,  I  don't  know  her  other  name." 


AN  IRON  ANGEL  399 

"Did  she  never  tell  you  her  name?  She's  dead,  Mickey, 
and  we  must  know  her  name." 

"Doc,  I  asked  her;"  he  gulped  down  a  sob;  "asked  her 
what  her  name  was  afore  she  met  him,  an*  she  begged  me 
never  to  ask  her  again,  till  he  married  her,  an'  he  never 
did." 

"But  I  must  fill  out  a  burial  certificate,  and  I  must  have 
another  name." 

"Ef  youse  must,  Doc,  w'y  not  give  her  my  name?  It  won't 
matter  none  to  her  when  she's  dead,  an' — an'  I  was  all  she 
had  in  the  worl'  to  th*  last."  He  got  up  and,  feeling  blindly 
for  the  doorway,  left  the  room. 

Do  come  home,  Flo.    Come  as  soon  as  ever  you  can. 

With  love,  Mamie, 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


THE   LETTER   HE   WANTED. 

The  second  letter  that  came  to  Price  from  Kansas 
City  made  him  wish  he  had  taken  twenty,  even  thirty 
thousand  more  from  the  Holdon  Company's  cash, 

Dear  Price— You  will  have  seen  the  Judge'  by  this  time. 
Write  me  what  he  had  to  say. 

I  wouldn't  write  this  letter,  but  I  may  start  for  Texas  to 
morrow.  The  agency  thinks  it  has  a  new  clew  leading  to 
Dallas,  so  I  am  uncertain  as  to  where  I  will  be  at  this  time 
to-morrow.  A.  M.  White,  of  California,  is  here  with  two  de 
tectives  on  our  case.  Joel  was  to  have  been  married  to  his 
sister.  I  want  you  to  put  a  good  man  on  the  back  track  in 
Chicago;  I  want  to  know  what  he  (Joel)  had  been  doing  for 
a  year.  I  don't  like  this  agency;  they  seem  to  be  pulling  my 
leg  and  giving  me  nothing  in  return  but  pipe  dreams. 

Now,  about  that  Harris  business.  I  want  you  to  have  each 
piece  of  the  machine  duplicated,  with  the  changes  in  shape 
of  patterns  and  in  the  driving  mechanism,  as  Robinson  sug 
gested.  Have  Robinson  sign  over  all  rights  in  the  machine 
to  me.  Pay  him  whatever  you  have  to.  I  enclose  draft.  Get 
the  rest  of  the  drawings  of  Robinson's  machine  to  Wash 
ington  as  soon  as  possible;  better  send  them  down  one  at  a 
time,  so  Gridley  can  be  fixing  up  our  claims.  And  don't  for 
get  that  every  scratch  that  goes  to  Gridley  goes  under  Robin 
son's  name.  This  is  important,  and  Gridley  understands  it; 
I  saw  him  in  New  York. 

Keep  Harris  jollied  along;  better  give  him  a  few  hun 
dred  out  of  that  draft.  Tell  him  he  must  not  let  a  soul  see 
the  machine;  that  he  must  not  even  whisper  of  its  existence 
to  any  one.  And  be  sure  that  he  keeps  at  work.  I  want  to 
get  this  business  closed  up  before  spring.  Ask  the  Judge  to 
put  you  in  touch  with  a  fellow  naved  Snively,  also  a  Jim 
Gardner.  We  will  use  both  of  them  in  the  next  campaign. 

Destroy  this.  H.  Holdon. 

"Destroy  it?  Well,  I  don't  think."  Price  laughed 
and  shook  his  fist  to  the  west.  "Destroy  it!  I  hope  to 
God  they  take  you  to  Texas  and  keep  you  there  a  month. 
I'll  have  enough  letters  in  that  length  of  time  to  cine'; 
my  hold  upon  you,  my  dear  next  mayor  of  Chicago,  tint 
I  will." 

400 


THE  LETTER  HE  WANTED  4<DI 

"Hasn't  Mr.  Holdon  come  yet?"  Harris  asked,  in  a 
matter-of-fact  way,  as  Price  stood  at  the  bench  watching 
him  at  work. 

"No,  and  what's  more,  I  don't  expect  to  see  him  for 
some  time.  He  went  through  to  Kansas  City,  but  I  had 
a  letter  from  him.  He  sent  you  two  hundred  dollars 
and  is  anxious  that  we  get  the  machine  set  up  for  a 
test  as  soon  as  possible."  Price  laid  a  check  for  two 
hundred  dollars  drawn  on  his  bank  on  the  bench.  Harris 
picked  up  the  check,  looked  at  the  signature,  then  at 
Price. 

"What's  the  matter  with  it?"  Price  asked. 

"Oh,  I  suppose  it's  good,  but  I  thought  you  said 
Holdon  sent  it." 

"So  he  did,  but  as  I  had  other  bills  to  meet,  he  sent 
a  draft  to  cover  the  full  amount  and  I  am  checking  it 
out." 

Harris  watched  Price  closely.  "I'd  like  to  see  that 
letter,"  he  was  thinking,  even  while  Price  made  his  ex 
planation. 

"Have  you  made  the  drawings  for  the  moulding 
mechanism?"  Price  inquired,  running  over  some  draw 
ings  on  the  bench.  "If  you  have,  I'll  take  them  to  the 
pattern  shops.  We  want  to  make  all  the  speed  pos 
sible." 

"I  haven't  finished  them."  Charley's  voice  was  hard 
ly  audible.  "I'll  get  at  them  again  to-night,"  he  added. 

"All  right,  Harris;  be  sure  and  have  them  ready  in 
the  morning,  I'll  be  out  after  them."  He  went  over 
and  looked  at  the  machine,  growing  piece  by  piece,  then 
left  the  shop. 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  Charley  threw  down  his 
tools  and  ran  to  a  window  where  he  could  see  Price  as 
he  went  toward  the  car  tracks. 

"I  wonder  if  I  am  a  fool!  Anyway,  he  lied  to  me 
once,  and  why  not  again?  My  God!  If  they  should 
try  to  rob  me  now  after  all  my  labor;  after  firing  my 
hopes  and  lifting  me  out  of  hell  into  heaven.  If  they 
do,"  he  shook  his  clinched  fists  at  Price  as  the  latter 
boarded  a  car.  "If  they  do,  by  the  eternals,  I'll  be  the 
last  man  they  rob/'  Back  to  the  bench  he  went,  mut 
tering  to  himself:  "I'll  pretend  that  I  couldn't  finish 
the  drawing  and  see  how  Price  takes  it.  If  I  have  a 


4O2  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

single  doubt  left  to-morrow,  I'll  take  the  work  to  some 
other  pattern  maker." 

The  mechanic  worked  that  day  under  a  pressure  that 
promised  a  nervous  breakdown  in  the  near  future.  As 
he  labored,  his  suspicions  of  both  Price  and  Holdon 
grew  and  he  determined  to  shadow  Price  and  finally  se 
cure  an  interview  with  Holdon  and  get  from  him  some 
thing  more  substantial  than  Price's  word  before  he  com 
pleted  the  machine. 

For  three  days  he  held  Price  off  with  the  statement 
that  he  had  been  unable  to  finish  his  work  on  the  draw 
ings  for  the  moulding  device,  and  each  day,  as  Price  be 
came  more  persistent  in  his  efforts  to  get  the  drawings, 
Harris  became  more  fixed  in  his  belief  that  there  was 
something  more  than  a  desire  to  see  the  early  comple 
tion  of  the  machine,  behind  Price's  evident  anxiety. 

"Let's  see,  this  moulding  mechanism  and  the  for 
mula  for  the  moulding  compound  about  finish  the  parts 
our  patent  claims  will  cover,  don't  they  Harris  ?"  Price 
asked  on  the  fourth  morning  when  Harris  had  told  him 
the  drawings  were  still  unfinished. 

"That's  about  all,"  Harris  admitted  and  went  on 
with  his  work. 

"Well,  I  wish  you  would  hurry  them  along.  We 
want  to  put  this  machine  to  the  test  at  the  earliest  pos 
sible  moment,  and  if  it  will  do  the  work  you  claim  for  it, 
we  ought  to  have  all  our  patent  claims  worked  up  and 
be  ready  the  day  the  machine  proves  a  success,  to  fire 
them  into  the  patent  office,"  Price  insisted. 

"The  machine  will  do  more  than  I  claim  for  it,"  the 
inventor  spoke  with  conviction.  "And,  I'll  get  out  the 
drawings,  never  fear.  I'll  work  day  and  night  to  get 
the  machine  set  up,  but — this  side  of  the  test,  Mr.  Price, 
I've  got  to  have  my  interest,  a  one-half  interest  in  all 
patents,  put  down  in  black  and  white." 

"I  thought  we  had  settled  all  that  at  the  beginning." 
A  nasty  scowl  crawled  up  over  the  speaker's  face,  and 
wiped  out  the  smile  he  attempted  to  assume. 

"We  settled  nothing  but  that  I  was  to  build  the  ma 
chine,  Holdon  was  to  furnish  the  money  and  each  of  us 
to  have  a  half  interest  in  the  patents."  Harris  watched 
even  the  quiver  of  Price's  eyelids. 


THE  LETTER  HE  WANTED  403 

"That's  what  I  meant  by  a  settlement/'  the  other 
answered.  "Just  that,  and  I  know  no  reason  why  it 
should  not  stand." 

"There  are  to  me  several  very  substantial  reasons  why 
I  should  insist  upon  something  more.  Besides,"  he 
went  on,  "I  have  decided  to  do  a  certain  thing  and  you 
might  as  well  know  it  now  as  later.  I  propose 
to  keep  the  rest  of  the  drawings  and  the  formula  in  my 
own  hands  until  I  have  Holdon's  agreement  in  black  and 
white." 

Price's  face  betrayed  him,  though  he  did  his  best  to 
hide  the  fear  that  had  put  its  markings  on  him. 

"I — I  don't  understand  you/'  he  stammered. 

"Then,  this  will  help  you  to  understand.  I  want  five 
hundred  dollars  to  cover  cost  of  finishing  the  machine. 
Then  I'll  go  ahead.  As  soon  as  Holdon  signs  up,  I'll 
turn  all  the  drawings  and  formula  over  to  you  and  not 
until  then." 

"This  is  an  extraordinary  demand,  Mr.  Harris." 
Price  tried  to  look  indignant.  "And,  I  must  say,  your 
language  is  insulting  to  both  Mr.  Holdon  and  myself. 
It  implies  a  suspicion  on  your  part  that  we  are  not — not 
acting  in  good  faith." 

"Take  it  that  way,  if  you  like,"  Harris  answered, 
hotly.  "But  I  tell  you  for  the  last  time,  I  want  five  hun 
dred  dollars  to-day.  If  you  don't  want  to  go  ahead  on 
that  plan,  I'll  see  a  lawyer  and  find  out  what  my  rights 
are." 

Thoroughly  alarmed  at  the  mention  of  a  lawyer  being 
brought  into  the  case,  Price  capitulated. 

"Harris,"  said  he,  "you  are  unreasonable,  but  to 
show  you  that  I  am  above  resentment,  even  when  you 
insinuate  that  I  am  not  dealing  fairly  with  you,  I  will 
give  you  my  check  for  the  five  hundred  and  leave  the 
whole  matter  in  your  hands.  Could  anything  be  fairer 
than  that?"  he  demanded  with  a  great  show  of  outraged 
innocence. 

"That's  fair,  Mr.  Price,  and  the  sooner  you  bring  Mr. 
Holdon  and  me  together,  the  better  it  will  suit  me." 

That  ended  the  interview.  Price  lost  no  time  in 
writing  all  the  facts  to  Holdon,  and  in  reply  received  the 
following  letter: 


404  MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

Dear  Price — You  must  get  those  drawings  and  the  formula, 
and  I  don't  want  you  to  employ  any  one  else.  Do  it  yourself. 
Go  to  him  and  take  the  enclosed  letter;  let  him  read  it.  He 
will  hustle  the  thing  along.  Tell  him  I  want  to  know  when 
everything  is  ready  and  I  will  try  to  get  back  as  soon  as  he 
can  show  me  the  completed  drawings. 

As  soon  as  Harris  reports  everything  ready  for  my  inspec 
tion,  get  him  out  of  the  city.  Martin  knows  where  his  folks 
live.  A  telegram  calling  him  home  will  do  the  business.  You 
know  what  to  do  as  soon  as  he's  gone. 

Put  everything  in  Robinson's  hands,  and  tell  him  to  push 
the  work.  Be  sure  and  put  everything  back  just  as  you 
found  it  before  he  gets  back.  Then  go  ahead  as  though  noth 
ing  had  happepned.  Holdon. 

Destroy  this. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

PRICE  IN   THE  ROLE  OF  A  BURGLAR. 

For  six  days  and  nights  after  the  receipt  of  Holdon's 
letter,  insisting  that  the  remaining  drawings  for  the 
Harris  moulding  machine  be  secured  at  the  earliest  mo 
ment,  Price  had  worked  with  Harris  in  the  little  shop 
during  the  day,  and  had  shadowed  him  evenings  until 
he  discovered  that  the  mechanic  was  working  on  his 
drawings  at  home  until  late  in  the  night.  This  fact  es 
tablished,  he  laid  his  plans  for  the  robbery  of  the  work 
er,  as  soon  as  he  was  sure  the  work  of  drafting  the  last 
piece  of  the  machine  had  been  finished. 

On  Monday  morning,  when  Charley  approached  the 
shop,  he  found  Price  standing  shivering  at  the  door. 

"I'm  a  little  bit  late  this  morning,"  he  observed ; 
''had  to  make  a  slight  change  in  one  of  my  drawings; 
the  difficulty  developed  yesterday  when  I  placed  the  low 
er  gearing  in  the  machine."  He  turned  the  key  in  the 
lock  and  both  men  entered,  Harris  exclaiming: 

"I  could  well  afford  to  work  late  last  night,  for  I 
finished  the  drawings  and  will  take  them  to  the  pattern 
maker  to-morrow." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  that,  Harris ;  it's  the  best  news  I've 
heard  in  a  long  time.  How  long  will  it  take  to  finish  the 
machine  ?" 

"Why,  if  I  can  get  the  heavier  machine  work  at  th<j 
time  promised,  we  ought  to  have  the  machine  ready  for 
a  test  run  inside  of  three  weeks." 

"Just  what  Robinson  said  about  his  machine."  Price 
was  thinking ;  aloud  he  said :  "That's  better  than  ever. 
Holdon  ought  to  be  here  in  two  weeks,  then  we  can 
have  your  'black  on  white'  scruples  satisfied,  and  get 
down  to  business."  This  open,  free-handed  talk  of  meet 
ing  his  demands  for  a  settlement  between  Holdon  and 
himself  thoroughly  disarmed  Charley  and  made  him 
ashamed  of  his  earlier  suspicions.  And  to  make  amends 

405 


406  MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

he  opened  his  heart  to  Price,  telling  him  of  the  success 
ful  tests  his  moulding  compound  had  stood  and  that  he 
had  measured  and  weighed  out  enough  of  the  several 
ingredients  to  make  the  moulds  for  their  trial  run.  Well 
satisfied,  the  mechanic  went  about  his  work,  while  Price 
poured  forth  his  admiration  of  this  or  that  ingenious  de 
vice  about  the  machine. 

It  was  in  the  neighborhood  of  ten  o'clock  when  Price, 
preparing  to  go  back  to  the  city,  said:  "I'm  going  to 
write  Holdon  to-day,  and  I  know  he  will  be  more  than 
pleased  with  the  progress  you  have  made.  By  the  way, 
suppose  I  come  out  to  your  place  to-night  and  talk  over 
the  business  end  of  the  deal.  If  we  get  together  on  it 
before  Holdon  comes,  it  won't  take  so  long  to  settle  mat 
ters  then." 

"Why,  I  don't  know  but  that  would  be  a  good  plan." 

"All  right,  I'll  be  out  to  the  house  about  eight 
o'clock,"  Price  replied;  but,  as  he  went  toward  the  car 
tracks  he  said  to  himself:  "I  won't  get  there  quite  so 
early,  but  when  I  do  arrive,  it's  dollars  to  doughnuts  he 
won't  be  there." 

"Martin  certainly  did  good  work  on  the  Harris  case," 
he  observed,  as  he  reached  his  apartments.  "If  Harris 
knows  any  more  about  his  family  or  his  wife's  people 
than  I  do,  he's  welcome  to  it." 

Seated  at  a  table  with  a  telegraph  blank  before  him, 
he  pondered: 

"Wonder  which  would  draw  him  the  quickest,  a  wire 
from  home  or  from  his  wife ;  whichever  it  is,  I've  got  to 
make  it  so  urgent  that  he  won't  wait  to  take  those  draw 
ings  to  the  pattern  maker.  If  he  did,  the  whole  game 
would  have  to  be  recast.  Well,  here  goes  a  quarter, 
heads  it's  mother ;  tails,  the  wife." 

The  coin  flipped  toward  the  ceiling,  fell  whirling 
over  and  over. 

"Tails,  by  George !    Just  what  I  wanted." 

About  thirty  minutes  later  a  man  wearing  a  slouched 
hat,  soiled  negligee  shirt,  clothes  to  match  and  a  faded 
brown  overcoat,  stood  at  the  corner  of  Randolph  and 
Dearborn  with  an  envelope  in  his  hand.  The  winter 
winds  whistling  down  the  throat-like  streets  caused  him 
to  bend  over  and  shield  his  face  from  the  icy  blast. 


PRICE  IN  THE  ROLE  OF  A  BURGLAR  407 

"Damned  funny  where  all  the  messenger  boys  are/' 
he  muttered,  after  standing  for  some  time  in  the  cold. 

A  hot  chestnut  vender  opened  up  for  business  a  few 
feet  from  where  he  stood,  and  after  buying  a  bag  of  nuts 
the  man  in  the  faded  brown  overcoat  asked : 

"Know  where  a  man  could  find  a  messenger  this  time 
of  day,  stranger?" 

"Sure  ting,  frein — you  want  to  pay — how  much?" 

"Why,  a  dollar  if  I  can  have  the  message  delivered 

once." 

"You  watch  the  stand;  I'll  git  a  boy";  the  vender 
was  gone.  He  had  returned  in  five  minutes  with  a  lad 
of  about  fourteen. 

"It's  my  boy,"  he  exclaimed.  "You  give  him  the  let 
ter;  I  take  the  dollar." 

"And  here's  ten  cents  besides;  I  sold  some  nuts." 
Price  grinned,  and  after  giving  the  boy  explicit  instruc 
tions,  returned  to  his  rooms. 

"There's  only  one  chance  of  a  hitch,  and  that's  re 
mote,  for  I  don't  think  he'll  ever  dream  of  it  being  a 
'phony'  message — he  hasn't  had  enough  business  with 
the  wires  to  know  what  trimmings  go  with  the  delivery 
of  a  genuine  message." 

Charley  was  getting  Beady  to  go  out  to  lunch  when 
the  message  was  delivered.  He  stood  with  the  unopened 
envelope  in  his  hand  long  after  the  boy  had  left  the  lit 
tle  shop,  and  for  the  life  of  him  he  could  not  have  sworn 
as  to  whether  the  boy  wore  uniform  or  not. 

The  type-written  message  was  short: 

D ,  Jan.  10,  19 . 

Your  wife  is  dying;  come  on  first  train. 

Holcomb. 

The  message  was  addressed  to  his  place  of  residence, 
and  the  first  clear  thought  he  had  aside  from  the  message 
was  that  some  one  had  directed  the  boy  to  the  shop 
when  he  could  not  deliver  the  message  at  the  house. 

Gone  from  Charley  Harris'  thoughts  completely  as 
though  they  never  had  existence,  were  all  the  loose  ends 
of  his  work.  Everything  else  save  the  thought  that 
Mary  had  called  to  him  was  lost  out  of  mind,  and  two 
hours  later  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  Grand  Central  sta 
tion,  where  he  waited  an  hour;  one  of  those  hours  that 
stretch  across  a  lifetime  and  reach  out  beyond. 


408  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

That  night  a  figure  wrapped  in  a  faded  brown  over 
coat  and  wearing  a  cap  pulled  down  over  face  and  ears, 
left  the  building  where  Price  had  apartments,  left  by  the 
back  way  and  later  entered  with  a  roll  of  papers  and 
bulging  pockets. 

"There,  by  the  gods,  I'm  glad  that' s  done.  My,  that 
was  a  beastly  job,  but  I've  got  the  goods,  compound 
and  all." 

The  speaker  threw  the  roll  of  papers  on  the  table  and 
emptied  his  pockets,  tried  the  door,  removed  his  shabby 
clothing  and  consigned  them  to  the  top  shelf  in  a  closet. 
Ensconced  in  smoking  jacket  and  comfortable  in  slip 
pers,  he  pulled  a  chair  to  the  table,  and  after  lighting  a 

cigar,  began  the  examination  of  the  papers. 

*  *  *  *  *  # 

"For  the  Lord  o'  mercy,  if  it  ain't  Charley !" 

The  speaker,  Jed  Holcomb,  was  standing  with  his 
body  blocking  the  doorway.  Open-mouthed,  disconcert 
ed,  he  gazed  at  the  man,  who  but  a  moment  before  had 
knocked  upon  the  front  door. 

"Well,  father,  she  isn't— she  isn't  dead  ?"  Charley  be 
gan. 

"Who  isn't  dead?"  Jed  asked  in  a  shaking  voice,  as 
he  stepped  out  on  the  porch  and  closed  the  door  behind 
him. 

"Why,  Mary.    I  got  your  message.    You " 

"My  message,  Charley,  why,  I  ain't  sent  you  no  mes 
sage — an'  Charley,  don't  tell  mother  I  sent  you  word  to 
come;  she'd  think — they'd  both  think,  I  sent  it  so  as 
you'd  come  an'  break  off  th'  business " 

"You  didn't  send  a  message,  you  say?"  The  young 
man  spoke  slowly  while  Jed  nodded  vigorously.  "And 
Mary  is  not  sick?'*  he  went  on,  then  asked:  "What 
does  it  mean?  Let's  go  in  and  talk  it  over." 

The  old  man  laid  a  hand  upon  his  son-in-law's  arm 
and  said :  "I  hate  like  pizen  to  tell  you  boy,  but  mother 
is  a  gitten  a  divorce  fer  Mary  to-day,  and  a  young  gos- 
lin'  of  a  preacher  will  be  a-courtin'  her  open  an'  above- 
board  to-morrer.  I  don't  like  it,  but  they  ain't  no  use  to 
holier,  and  you  see  it  wouldn't  do  fer  me  t'  have  you  in 
th'  house  when  they  come  back."  He  looked  furtively 
up  and  down  the  street.  "They  may  be  comin'  back  any 
minute  now." 


PRICE  IN  THE  ROLE  OF  A  BURGLAR  4OQ 

Stunned,  bewildered,  and  at  a  loss  to  account  for  his 
inability  to  even  answer  the  stooped  figure  before  him, 
the  young  man  stood  shuffling  'his  feet  and  frowning  at 
the  door.  "What  could  he  do  ?  What  did  it  all  mean  ?" 

"They  are  comin'  Charley;  please  don't  stay." 

Jed's  eyes  were  on  the  stretch  of  street  to  the  south 
and  Charley  turned  in  that  direction. 

"Yes,  the  larger  figure  was  Martha,  and  the  other — 
in  spite  of  all  he  had  suffered,  a  strange  heart  hunger 
possessed  him. 

"If  they  see  you  an'  think  I  sent  for  you,  they  won't 
be  no  livin'  with  either  of  them,  t'  say  nothin'  of 
both " 

The  pleading  eyes  of  the  older  man  brought  Charley 
to  his  senses. 

"You  are  right,  father;  you  are  right,"  and  as  he 
took  the  old  man's  hand,  he  added:  "I'm  glad  I  came 
father,  glad  to  have  a  sight  of  you,  remember  that.  I'll 
go  out  the  alley  way,"  he  added,  and  with  a  last  good- 
by  swung  down  the  steps  and  traveled  the  familiar 
path  to  the  little  barn,  then  down  the  alley  to  a  side 
street. 

"What  can  it  mean?  Did  some  one  here  who  knew 
about  the  divorce  proceedings  wire  me,  in  order  to  make 
more  trouble  for  all  of  us?  That  must  be  it,"  Harris 
told  himself  as  he  hurried  to  a  hotel.  "And  it  proves 
that  mother  was  right  when  she  said  half  the  trouble  in 
the  world  was  caused  by  people  who  were  afraid  there 
would  be  less  of  it  to-morrow  than  there  was  yesterday, 
and  in  order  to  keep  up  the  average  and  give  God  some 
thing  to  forget  and  the  devil  one  more  soul  to  remember, 
work  overtime  at  trouble  brewing." 

At  the  hotel  he  asked  when  he  could  get  a  train  for 
Chicago. 

"The  bus  has  gone,  but  if  you  hurry  you  can  make 
it,"  the  clerk  replied,  and  the  guest  hurried  out  into  the 
night. 

Martin  had  not  discovered  that  Harris  and  his  wife 
had  parted.  All  he  knew  was  that  she  was  with  her 
folks.  And  Price  had  calculated  that  even  after  Harris 
discovered  the  message  to  be  a  fake,  he  would  hardly 
return  to  the  city  within  a  couple  of  days,  and  that 
would  be  ample  time  in  which  to  get  prints  of  all  the 


410  MILLS  OF   MAMMON 

drawings  as  well  as  an  analysis  of  the  compound.  But 
Harris,  as  we  have  seen,  spent  but  little  time  at  the 
home  of  the  Holcombs  and  was  on  his  way  back,  while 
Price  was  skulking  down  side  streets  with  his  loot. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

HOLDON    RETURNS. 

The  first  man  the  Honorable  Horace  Holdon  met 
upon  his  return  from  Kansas  City  was  none  other  than 
ex-Superintendent  Price. 

"Get  my  wire?"  he  asked  cheerily,  when  Price  met 
him  at  the  Eagle. 

"Yes,  and  I've  got  other  things." 

"Not  the  Harris  plans?" 

"Yes,  everything,"  Price  affirmed.  "And  it  was  like 
taking  candy  from  a  baby.  But  between  you  and  I  it 
won't  be  a  baby  we'll  have  to  handle  if  he  ever  gets  next 
to  the  deal.  He  got  back  before  I  could  return  the 
swag.  He's  dangerous." 

The  magnate  laughed  softly. 

"Think  he's  dangerous,  do  you?  Well,  if  he  wants 
revenge,  he'll  have  to  take  it  out  of  either  you  or  Robin 
son;  I  want  the  machine,  and  if  some  one  besides  Har 
ris  can  show  me  a  machine  that  will  do  the  work — say," 
he  turned  suddenly  and  shot  a  quick  look  at  Price.  "You 
are  sending  all  the  drawings  and  claims  to  Washington 
in  Robinson's  name,  are  you?" 

"Sure  thing,  and  I  have  his  bill  of  sale  for  the  ma 
chine  ;  this  is  it."  He  extracted  an  envelope  from  a  num 
ber  he  had  taken  from  his  pocket,  and  as  he  handed  it 
to  Holdon,  remarked :  "The  model  maker  will  have  his 
work  finished  within  two  weeks." 

"That's  good,"  Holdon  mumbled,  as  he  read  the 
document  Price  had  handed  him.  When  he  had  finished 
reading  he  looked  up.  "I  see  you  have  taken  care  of 
your  own  interests  in  this  conveyance."  The  tone  was 
not  pleasant,  and  Price  flushed. 

"Well — er — yes,"  he  stammered.  "I  have  taken  all 
the  risks,  and  I  don't  think  a  half  interest  in  the  machine 
is  any  too  much." 

411 


412  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"Well,  I  think  it  is  too  much,  and  I  would  strongly 
advise  that  you  do  a  bit  more  thinking  along  that  line, 
and  when  you  get  it  thought  out,  1  shall  expect  an  as 
signment  of  the  interest  this  document  gives  you." 

"But,"  Price  began,  when  Holdon,  with  a  wave  of 
his  hand,  declared: 

"There  are  no  'buts'  in  this  case,  Price,  and  I  thought 
you  understood  it.  I  gave  you  instructions  and  the 
money  to  carry  them  out.  I  told  you  I  wanted  that  ma 
chine.  I  never  intimated  that  I  wanted  to  enter  into 
a  business  partnership  with  you,  did  I?" 

"No,  but " 

"There  it  goes  again;  I  tell  you  there  are  no  'buts' 
in  the  case.  For  a  certain  sum  per  month  you  agreed  to 
handle  this  matter,  did  you  not?" 

"Y-e-s,"  the  answer  was  long  in  coming,  though 
short  in  itself. 

"Was  there  anything  said  about  you  having  a  half 
interest  or  any  other  interest  in  the  machine?" 

Holdon  waited  for  some  time  for  the  "No,"  Price 
reluctantly  uttered. 

"I  am  glad,  Price,  deuced  glad,  your  memory  is  bet 
ter  to-night  than  it  was  when  you  had  that  assignment 
drawn  up,"  Holdon  observed,  laughingly,  and  after  giv 
ing  his  agent  instructions  for  the  morrow,  excused  him 
self  and  went  home. 

When  Price  reached  his  apartments  he  was  in  any 
thing  but  a  pleasant  frame  of  mind. 

"The  old  hog  wants  the  middle  of  the  trough,  does 
he  ?  And  after  me  running  the  risk  of  a  trip  to  the  pen. 
Well,  my  dear,  good,  ambitious  boss,  I  haven't  forgotten 
that  I  have  a  couple  of  letters  of  yours  marked  "Destroy 
this'  safely  tucked  away,  and  before  I  assign  the  half 
interest  in  Harris'  patents,  I  rather  guess  I'll  mention  the 
fact  that  I  forgot  to  destroy  them  and  see  then  if  there 
are  no  'huts'  in  the  case." 

He  had  his  feet  on  the  table,  a  cigar  between  his 
teeth,  and  was  planning  the  last  battle  of  his  campaign. 

"Gad,  I  wonder  if  his  hair  won't  curl  some  when  he 
finds  out  how  much  T  took  out  of  the  Holdon  Company. 
Hope  he  don't  study  his  bank  balance  too  close  before 
we  get  this  Harris  business  finished  up." 


HOLDON  RETURNS  4!3 

A  vigorous  knocking  on  the  outer  door  brought 
Price  to  his  feet. 

"Now,  who " 

The  knocks  being  repeated  even  more  vigorously,  he 
called  out,  "Come  in,"  and  Charley  Harris  entered. 

As  their  eyes  met,  Price  put  a  trembling  hand  on 
the  table,  and  tried  to  utter  a  welcome,  but  the  face  of 
his  visitor,  the  aggressiveness,  determination,  desperate- 
ness  of  the  whole  man  unnerved  him.  He  had  told 
Holdon  they  would  not  have  a  baby  to  deal  with  should 
this  man  ever  "get  next." 

"God,  Price,  I  didn't  know  you  were  taking  it  so 
hard,  too,"  Charley  burst  out,  throwing  himself  into  a 
chair. 

Price  had  his  cue.  With  a  sigh  of  relief,  he,  too,  sat 
down,  and  the  visitor,  looking  at  his  host,  noted  a  pallor 
and  nervousness  he  had  never  before  observed  about  the 
man. 

"Take  it  hard,"  Price  began  in  a  low  voice.  "Why 
should  I  not  take  it  hard?  Think  of  the  money  I've 
spent,  besides  Holdon's  back  and  don't  seem  to  take 
much  stock  in  the  story  you  tell.  He  insists  upon  hav 
ing  the  machine  and  says  he  will  have  it  if  he  has  to 

buy  it  from " 

"The  thief,"  Harris  finished. 
"Yes,  the  thief,"  the  other  agreed. 
"But,  see  here,  Price,  whoever  stole  those  drawings 
and  that  compound,  can't  finish  the  machine  unless  he 
has  the  drawings  and  specifications  belonging  to  that 
part  of  the  work  I  had  already  finished." 

He  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table  with  a  thump. 
"And  what  I  came  up  here  for  to-night  was  to  find  out 
if  you  ever  allowed  any  one  to  take  copies  of  the  draw 
ings  you  took  to  the  pattern  maker?"-  Looking  straight 
at  Price,  he  demanded  an  answer. 

"How  absurd,"  that  gentleman  declared,  and  con 
veniently  dropped  a  match,  stooped  to  recover  it,  and 
while  relighting  his  cigar,  gained  the  time  necessary  to 
shape  his  answer.  "Absurd,  Harris,  utterly  absurd! 
I've  been  in  business  too  long  to  do  such  a  fool  thing 
as  you  surmise." 

"Well,  will  you  tell  me  what  could  have  possessed  a 
thief  to  take  those  drawings  of  mine,  and  that  heavy 


414  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

compound  and  leave  money  lying  in  the  drawers  he 
rummaged  through?  Tell  me  that;  tell  me  what  use  he 
could  possibly  make  of  them,  unless  he  had  the  rest  of 
them?  I  tell  you  there's  been  a  leak  and  it  wasn't  at 
my  end.  The  old  pattern  maker  says  not  a  soul  but 
you  ever  saw  the  drawings,  the  last  man  says  you  visited 
him  often  and  as  I  had  told  him  you  were  in  the  deal 
with  me,  he  never  thought  to  keep  the  work  away  from 
you." 

Harris  paused,  but  Price  did  not  take  his  eyes  from 
the  ceiling,  as  he  said: 

"I  surely  told  you  I  visited  the  last  pattern  maker; 
you  see,  I  couldn't  always  take  time  to  run  clear  out  to 
the  shop,  and  I  was  as  anxious  as  you  to  see  the  thing 
completed  before — before  Mr.  Holdon's  return." 

"And  you  never  made  duplicates  of  my  drawings  or 
gave  a  description  of  the  machine  to  any  one  other  than 
Mr.  Holdon?" 

The  question  came  in  a  low  voice,  but  it  carried 
something  of  menace  in  its  timbre. 

"Never!"  Price  almost  shouted,  turning  squarely  to 
ward  his  visitor  and  reassuring  him.  His  shaking  nerves 
told  that  he  did  not  miss  the  measure  of.  the  man  he  had 
robbed. 

"That's  all,  Price." 

Harris  got  to  his  feet,  pulled  his  hat  down  over  his 
eyes  and  strode  to  the  door.  There  he  hesitated,  turned, 
and  facing  his  host,  said: 

"The  man  who  stole  those  drawings  has  stolen  the 
rest  of  the  machine,  and,  so  help  me  God,  I  will  kill  him 
— I  would  kill  him  if  I  knew  that  there  was  a  red-hot 
hell  waiting  for  me." 

The  visitor  was  gone,  but  Price  did  not  retire  until 
he  had  considered  every  possible  chance  he  could  con 
jure  up  whereby  the  mechanic  who  had  had  a  vision, 
might  discover  the  truth. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MICKEY    MEETS   AN   OLD   FRIEND. 

Charley  Harris  determined  while  on  the  way  home 
after  his  talk  with  Price  to  see  Holdon  the  next  morn 
ing,  and  accordingly  went  to  the  foundry  early. 

When  lie  inquired  for  Mr.  Holdon,  a  clerk  informed 
him  that  Holdon  was  no  longer  connected  with  the  es 
tablishment  in  an  official  capacity,  and  the  disappointed 
mechanic  was  loitering  about  on  the  street  in  front  of 
the  plant,  hardly  knowing  what  next  to  do,  when  he  saw 
Mickey  Dougherty  scuttling  into  an  alley  on  a  side  street 
as  though  he  were  trying  to  avoid  some  one. 

Without  a  thought,  other  than  that  he  owed  the 
cripple  an  apology  for  his  unceremonious  leave-taking 
some  months  before,  Charley  ran  down  the  side  street 
and  fairly  ran  into  Mickey  at  the  mouth  of  the  alley. 

"Well,  of  all  things !"  he  exclaimed.  "How  are  you, 
Mickey?" 

"Did  he  see  youse,  too?"  the  other  questioned,  hold 
ing  out  his  hand. 

"Who  see  me?"  Harris  asked,  as  their  hands  clasped. 

"Why,  his  nibs,  deboss!" 

"No,  I  guess  not — was  it  Mr.  Holdon  you  meant? 
If  it  was  I  assure  you  I  want  to  see  him  and  I  will — 
was  it  Mr.  Holdon?" 

"Yep,  Mr.  Holdon." 

"Where  did  you  see  him?" 

"Why,  as  I  was  a-makin'  a  sneak  back  of  de  works, 
trying  t'  see  some  one  I  knows,  he  comes  along  on  de 
street  an'  stops.  I  turns  from  a  lookin'  tru'  de  fence  an' 
it's  him;  so  I  hits  de  high  places  only,  till  I  gits  most 
down  dis  alley." 

"But  why  in  the  world  would  you  run;  are  you 
working?  What  have  you  been  doing  since  I  left?" 

"Say,  Charley,"  Mickey  looked  up  soberly.  "Them 
is  long  questions  an'  I  ain't  got  answers  fer  all  of  them, 

415 


MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

'cept  this:  I  was  makin'  my  git-away  'cause  I  don't 
want  t'  meet  Old  Holdon.  I  ain't  bin  in  th'  works  fer 
a  thousand'  years,  an'  what  I  bin  doin'  since  I  seed  youse 
last  I'd  give — I'd  give  anything  t'  be  able  t'  fergit — an' 
that's  all  I  kin  tell  yer,  Charley — all  I  kin  tell  any 
body." 

Charley  stood  looking  at  the  forlorn  little  figure  be 
fore  him.  The  months  that  had  passed  since  they  part 
ed  had  stamped  old  age  on  the  face  of  Mickey  Dough 
erty,  and  the  man  standing  more  than  head  and  shoul 
ders  above  him  for  the  time  forgot  his  troubles  as  he 
pictured  the  hard  luck  Mickey  must  have  experienced  to 
so  change  him. 

"Mickey,"  he  put  a  hand  upon  his  companion's 
shoulder.  "I've  got  a  few  dollars  and  a  place  to  eat  and 
sleep;  won't  you  share  them  with  me?" 

"Me?  Wy,  I  don't  need  no  money;  what  I  need  is 
frien's — frien's — some  one  t'  help  me.  I'm — I'm  des 
perate,  an'  I  don't  no  more  know  what  t'  do'n  a  rabbit." 

The  Irishman  lifted  his  blue  eyes  to  Charley's  face, 
and  Charley  saw  not  only  the  quivering  lips,  but  great 
salty  tears  welling  up  and  out  of  those  appealing  eyes. 
He  could  appreciate  the  gravity  of  a  situation  which 
would  force  tears  from  the  eyes  of  Mickey  Dougherty, 
and  his  heart  went  out  to  his  old-time  chum. 

"Mickey,  we  all  run  into  hard  lines  in  this  world, 
and  I  feel  that  mine  are  about  as  hard  as  man  was  ever 
called  upon  to  endure.  So  let's  halve  our  troubles  by 
taking  up  our  old  friendship,  and  I  promise  you  I  will 
not  run  away  again  without  a  good-by." 

"All  right,  Charley,  an'  I'll  go  out  home  with  youse; 
might  jist  as  well  live  with  youse  as  anybody — better,  I 
guess — but,  I  ain't  a-promisin'  t'  spill  my  troubles,  not 
even  if  youse  asks  me." 

So  it  happened  that  Mickey  got  scent  of  a  new  trail 
that  night  when  Charley  told  him  of  the  robbery,  and 
of  his  visit  to  Price,  and  that  gentleman's  avowal  that 
he  was  not  responsible  for  any  "leak"  that  might  have 
led  up  to  the  robbery. 

Mickey's  'memory  of  a  conversation  they  had  had 
when  Charley  first  told  him  that  Price  had  invented  a 
moulding  machine  and  wanted  him  to  build  it,  together 
with  the  suspicion  aroused  when  he  overheard  Price 


MICKEY   MEETS  AN  OLD  FRIEND  417 

and  Moran  that  morning,  came  back  to  him,  and  he  de 
termined  to  shadow  Price  until  either  he  or  Harris  had 
found  a  clue  to  the  thief. 

This  new  occupation  was  a  relief  to  him,  inasmuch 
as  it  lifted  his  mind  above  the  rut  in  which  his  troubles 
had  confined  it. 

Two  days  later  Charley  found  him  at  the  house  when 
he  returned  home  from  an  interview  with  Holdon. 

"Say,  Charley,  you  know  I  worked  in  the  foundry, 
an'  ought  t'  know  when  I  sees  a  machine  t'  do  that 
sort  ov  work,  hadn't  I?"  was  Mickey's  welcome  as 
Charley  entered  the  room. 

"Sure  thing — why,  I'll  bet  you'd  know  what  my 
machine  was  for  the  minute  you  put  your  eyes  on  it." 

"Well,  suppose  youse  opens  up  a  little,  an',  startin' 
at  the  ground,  tells  me  what  your  machine  looks  like; 
how  it  is  run:  where  youse  pours  in  th'  iron;  how  th' 
castings  is  made,  an'  what  sort  of  a  contraption  it  is  on 
top.  Tell  me  all  about  it,  so  as  I  kin  jist  see  it  in  front 
of  my  eyes." 

"Why,  that's  easy,  Mickey,  even  if  they  did  steal  all 
my  drawings,  I  can  see  the  machine.  It's  like  this:  It 
sets  on  the  floor  on  a  base  shaped  like  this."  He  drew 
a  sheet  of  paper  to  him  and  quickly  drew  an  outline. 
Mickey  followed  every  movement  of  the  pencil  and 
never  uttered  a  word  until  the  whole  machine  had  been 
described,  and  the  more  important  parts  outlined;  then 
he  straightened  up. 

"Charley,  ef  youse'l  promise  not  to  do  nothin'  rash, 
not  to  try  t'  make  me  tell  youse  nothin'  till  I'm  ready, 
I'll  tell  youse  somethin'." 

"Promise!  Promise!  Why,  of  course,  I'll  promise; 
fire  away." 

"Then  it's  this;  I  seen  yer  machine." 

"Were  you  out  at  the  shop?"  Charley  interrupted. 

"No,  not  to  th'  one  youse  mean;  but  I  was  t'  a 
shop." 

"And  saw — oh,  pshaw,  you're  joking." 

"Not  on  yer  life;  I  hain't  jokin';  I  tell  youse  I  seen 
yer  machine.  It's  changed  some,  but  it's  made  to  do  th' 
same  work." 

"Where  did  you  see  it?" 

"There  you  goes.    I  knowed  youse  would,  but  youse 


4l8  MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

gived  a  promise  an'  I'm  a-goin'  t'  hold  yer  t'  it;  I  ain't 
ready  t'  tell  nothin'  else.  When  I  am,  youse'l  know 
who  stold  yer  machine — an'  I'll  have  another  som'thin' 
often  my  mind." 

By  every  means  short  of  force,  Harris  tried  to  worm 
from  the  cripple  at  least  a  part  of  the  story  he  knew  lay 
behind  his  sturdy  assertion,  that  he  had  visited  a  shop 
and  had  seen  the  Harris  Automatic  Moulder. 

Finally  Mickey  looked  at  the  clock,  saying:  "I  got 
t'  be  hittin'  it,  Charley." 

"Why,  what  on  earth !  It's  bed  time  and  we  haven't 
had  supper.  You  aren't  going  out  this  time  of  night. 
Wait,  I'll  get  something  to  eat." 

Mickey,  declaring  he  had  to  go  and  that  he  couldn't 
wait  for  anything  to  eat,  left  the  house,  leaving  a  much 
perplexed  mechanic  to  mull  over  some  much  mixed  and 
perplexing  probabilities. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


LOST — A    SON. 

How  many  thousand  homes,  how  many,  many  moth 
ers'  hearts  might  well  carry  these  three  words :  "Lost — a 
son!"  or  even  these:  "Lost — a  daughter!"  branded  with 
the  ever  hot  iron  of  memory  where  the  world  might  read. 

As  you  and  I  have  become  acquainted  with  Joel  Hoi- 
don — know  his  willful,  bestial  crimes,  I  doubt  if  one  of 
us  could  force  a  tear  to  fall  in  tribute  to  his  memory. 
We  know,  but  his  father  and  sister  do  not  know.  And 
supposing  they  did  know,  is  it  not  within  reason  that  they 
would  charge  the  son's  crime  to  the  woman's  passion  and 
move  heaven  and  earth  to  reach  the  one  responsible  for 
his  death  ?  Is  this  not  the  way  in  which  we  square  away 
the  sins  of  our  own  flesh? 

"It's  no  use,  Bee.  The  agency  Price  put  on  the  case, 
and  the  detectives  White  hired,  as  well  as  those  I  en 
gaged  because  they  thought  they  had  a  clew,  have  all 
come  to  the  same  conclusion — Joel  was  killed  somewhere 
between  Kansas  City  and  a  point  west  of  Dallas,  Texas, 
killed  for  the  money  and  jewelry  he  carried."  The  fath 
er  paused  and  stroked  the  girl's  head,  as  it  lay  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"Did  they,  did  they  do  everything,  everything  money 
could  do?"  she  asked  between  sobs. 

"Everything,  sweetheart,  everything.  I  wouldn't  be 
here  to-night  if  they  hadn't.  We  thought  we  had  a  strong 
clew  in  Dallas,  but  while  the  experts  declare  a  signature 
on  a  hotel  register  there  was  written  by  Joel,  we  were 
unable  to  find  the  slightest  trace  of  him,  or,  for  that 
matter,  of  the  Mr.  Smith  who  registered  that  night. 
Aside  from  a  couple  of  loungers  and  guest  there  was  no 
one  but  the  clerk  in  the  office.  A  week  later  the  clerk 
went  to  El  Paso;  we  brought  him  back  because  the  men 
who  were  in  the  office  swore  this  Mr.  Smith  wore  clothes 
such  as  Joel  had  on  when  last  seen  in  Kansas  City,  and 

419 


42O  MILLS  OF   MAMMON 

carried  a  suit-case.  The  suit-case  was  missing,  though 
the  men  swore  Mr.  Smith  did  not  take  it  with  him  when 
he  went  out  to  some  address"  to  which  he  had  inquired 
the  way.  Of  course  the  detectives  suspected  the  clerk 
of  having  taken  the  suit-case,  but  he  established  his  in 
nocence.  He  remembered  where  this  Mr.  Smith  went,  or 
at  least  where  he  directed  him  to  go.  The  detectives  dis 
covered  that  a  Southern  woman,named  Estella  something, 
a  baby,  a  colored  servant  and  a  crippled  fellow  lived  at 
the  address  the  clerk  had  given.  By  the  time  we  had  gotten 
there,  or  a  little  before,  they  had  left  the  city ;  she  to  join 
her  husband  in  St.  Louis,  then  go  South.  We  followed 
every  clew ;  I  went  out  to  the  house,  but  I  never  believed 
Joel  had  been  there.  He  couldn't  have  known  the 
woman,  and  if  he  had  he  wouldn't  have  stopped  there 
on  his  way  to  be  married." 

"Wasn't  it  strange  he  never  told  us  he  was  engaged  ?" 
Beatrice  whispered. 

"Yes,  it  was  strange,  but,  sweetheart,  men  do  strange 
things." 

Silence  fell  over  the  grand  setting  supplied  for  this 
recounting  of  a  life  tragedy,  while  the  father  thought 
how  little  he  had  known  his  only  son,  as  he  reviewed  the 
side  lights  upon  his  life,  this  quest  for  him  had  revealed. 
And  the  sister  silently  prayed  that  her  wayward  brother 
might  be  restored  to  her,  promising  in  her  heart  to  for 
give  and  forget  all  that  had  passed,  if  he  but  returned  to 
them. 

"I  have  done  everything;  will  continue  to  do  every 
thing  so  long  as  the  agencies  will  take  my  money ;  but,  I 
have  lost  hope.  The  detective  now  in  the  South  has  run 
a  dozen  clews  to  earth  and  is  asking  to  be  relieved.  I 
have  put  another  man  on  the  back  track,  to  find  out — to 
find  out  if  there  was  any  relationship,  any  circumstance 
that  might,  if  discovered,  give  us  a  fresh  'hold;  but  so 
far,  there  are  no  developments." 

"Did  he  take  much  money  with  him  ?"  Beatrice  asked 
at  this  point. 

"Yes,  all  he  could  rake  and  scrape  together;  besides, 
he  bought  about  four  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  dia 
monds  and  such  stuff." 

"Four  thousand !"  the  girl  exclaimed. 


LOST — A  SON  421 

"Yes,  a  present  to  his  bride-to-be.  I  will  pay  for 
them  to-morrow.  Besides,  he  borrowed  money,  and — but, 
I  shouldn't  be  telling  you  this."  Holdon  bent  and  kissed 
his  daughter.  "The  boy  is  known  to  have  exhibited  his 
money  and  talked  of  the  jewels  he  was  taking  with  him, 
and  it  is  the  opinion  of  the  police  that  the  plot  to  do 
away  with  him  was  hatched  here,  and  that  he  was  lured 
to  his  death  by  some  one  he  believed  to  be  a  friend." 

Beatrice  sat  up  and  with  her  hands  locked  behind  her 
father's  neck,  looked  into  his  tear-dimmed  eyes. 

"Oh,  daddy,  he  was  a  foolish  boy.  I  know  how  you 
have  longed  for  years  for  him  to  settle  down ;  but,  daddy, 
if  he'd  only  come  home,  only  come  home!" 

"Yes,  if  he'd  only  come  home,"  the  father  repeated, 
and  added,  "I  could  forgive  everything;  but,  he  won't 
come,  Bee,  so  you  and  I  will  just  have  to  make  the  best 
of  it,  and  forget  that  we  ever  hoped  to  see  Joel  a  sub 
stantial,  steady-going  business  man.  We  will  have  to 
learn  to  forget,  Bee,  forget." 

"And  forgetting  is  doubly  hard  when  we  do  not  know 
what  it  is  we  must  forget,  doubly  hard,"  the  girl  ob 
served  as  Holdon  got  up  and  announced  that  he  had  to 
meet  an  engagement  downtown. 

The  engagement  the  Hon.  Horace  Holdon  had  to 
meet,  was  with  Mr.  Abner,  the  new  president  of  the 
Founders'  Trust.  They  had  been  discussing  business  in 
a  general  way  for  about  fifteen  minutes,  when  Mr.  Abner 
turning  his  little  head  with  a  jerk,  blinked  savagely,  and 
observed:  "Your  superintendent,  that  man  Price,  left 
things  in  a  nice  mess  here." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  Holdon  scowled.  He  had  never 
loved  Abner,  and  although  he  had  given  up  his  hold  on 
the  plant  and  the  remunerative  office  of  president  to  sat 
isfy  a  widening  ambition,  he  still  felt  jealous  of  Abner, 
and  did  not  relish  that  little  man's  tart  comment  on  cer 
tain  conditions  he  had  found  upon  taking  charge  of  the 
plant. 

"Oh,  I  know  you  will  champion  him,  Mr.  Holdon. 
When  I  think  so  much  of  a  man  that  I  hand  him  a  check 
and  tell  him  to  fill  it  in,"  Abner  began  banteringly,  when 
his  visitor  interrupted  hotly:  "A  matter  of  business, 


422  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

my  dear  sir,  a  matter  of  business,  if  you  refer  to  the 
check  I  gave  Mr.  Price  when  you  took  charge." 

"Exactly,  exactly,"  Abner  chuckled  and  rubbed  his 
hands.  "And  do  you  know,  I've  often  wondered  if  you 
yet  know  the  figure  that  check  was  drawn  for?"  Another 
soft  chuckle  and  an  added  question:  "Do  you?" 

"No,  I  don't,  having  been  out  of  the  city  practically 
ever  since  I  handed  it  to  him."  He  paused.  "If  it  will 
relieve  your  mind  any,  suppose  you  tell  me  the  figure." 
Holdon  leaned  'back  smiling  at  the  neat  turn  he  had 
given  his  last  speech. 

"With  all  the  pleasure  in  the  world."  Taking  the 
auditor's  report  from  a  drawer,  he  ran  his  eyes  over  it 
hurriedly  and  looking  up,  said : 

"The  auditor  found  him  thirty  thousand  short." 

"Thirty  thousand  devils!"  Holdon  was  out  of  his 
chair  and  had  snatched  up  the  report. 

Mr.  Abner  paused  but  a  moment  and  went  on. 

"And  of  course  the  check  you  so.  kindly  signed  for 
him  was  drawn  to  cover  that  amount." 

Holdon  had  mastered  all  outward  show  of  anger 
when  he  finally  handed  the  report  to  Abner.  He  re 
marked  calmly:  "Come  to  think  of  it;  that  would  be 
about  the  figure  after  he  had  drawn  for  the  deals  I  had 
entrusted  to  him.  Of  course,  at  first  blush,  I  was  startled. 
To  accuse  a  man  of  being  short  thirty  thousand  without 
the  proof  to  back  your  assertion  is  just  a  bit  lurid,  you 
know,  and  it  caught  me." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  it's  all  right,  for,  to  be  frank  with 
you,  while  it  would  seem  that  I  was  mistaken  in  this 
matter,  I  can  assure  you,  I  have  not  changed  my  mind 
about  the  man — he's " 

"He's  earned  your  ill  will  because  he  refused  to  let 
you  have  your  own  way  here  before  he  was  satisfied  that 
my  interests  were  being  fully  protected,"  Holdon  said 
aloud,  but  inwardly  he  was  boiling. 

"Have  it  that  way,  if  you  please,  my  dear  friend,  and 
let  us  hope  you  need  never  change  your  mind,"  Abner 
answered  calmly,  and  other  visitors  -being  announced, 
Holdon  took  his  departure. 

He  had  a  second  appointment  to  meet,  and  went  to 
it  in  anything  but  a  good  humor.  This  time,  he  was  to 


LOST — A    SON  423 

meet  the  man  who  had  been  robbed.  Going  direct  from 
the  office  of  Mr.  Abner  to  his  suite  of  rooms  over 
"Shifty"  Smith's,  he  did  not  have  long  to  wait  before 
Harris  was  heard  knocking  upon  the  door  that  connected 
the  suite  with  the  vacant  room  in  the  adjoining  building, 
through  which  Price  had  taught  him  to  seek  entrance. 
Holdon  was  not  expecting  a  visitor  from  that  direction 
by  daylight,  and  for  a  moment,  hesitated  to  throw  the 
bolt.  The  knock  being  repeated,  he  shot  back  the  bolt, 
and  Charley  Harris,  hat  in  hand,  stepped  in.  The  mag 
nate  was  so  surprised  that  he  did  not  question  the  visitor 
as  to  how  he  had  obtained  knowledge  of  the  secret  en 
trance.  On  the  contrary,  without  a  word,  he  led  the 
way  into  the  room  where  Charley  had  seen  him  once 
before,  standing  by  the  table,  while  Price  insisted  that 
he  was  out  of  the  city. 

"Well !"    When  seated,  Holdon  uttered  this  one  word. 

"I've  been  robbed,"  Harris  answered. 

"It's  the  common  lot  of  men,"  the  host  observed  with 
a  sneer.  "You  don't  need  to  feel  bad  about  it,  we  all 
get  touched  occasionally,  you  know." 

"But,  some  one  has  stolen  my  machine — and " 

"And,  see  here;  I've  a  mind  to  throw  you  through 
the  window."  Holdon  had  let  all  holds  go.  "You  and 
your  machine !  Did  you  ever  have  a  machine  ?  I  don't 
believe  a  word  of  it.  You  and  Price,  between  you,  have 
been  bilking  me  out  of  good  money  for  a  year  on  the 
strength  of  a  machine  I  never  saw.  I  tell  you,  young 
man,  you've  played  your  last  card;  and  you  wouldn't 
6e  here  now  with  your  tale  of  robbery  if  you  knew " 

"I  protest,  Mr.  Holdon,  I  do  know  that  you  are  un 
just.  Let  me  explain." 

Harris  was  on  his  feet. 

"You  want  to  protest,  do  you  ?  Find  Price ;  then  the 
two  of  you  come  up  here  together,  and  I'll  listen  to  your 
protest." 

"But,  Price  is  as  much  in  the  dark  about " 

"Get  out  of  my  sight !"  Holdon  thundered  at  Charley's 
intimation  that  Price  was  innocent  of  something  unstated, 
but  innocent.  "Get  out,  you  young  thief — you  robbed, 
indeed !" 

"Don't  you  call  me  a  thief ;  I  might  forget  your  age," 
Charley  broke  in  in  a  choked  voice. 


MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

"Then  go ;  how  many  times  must  I  tell  you  ?" 

On  the  street,   Harris   started  toward  Clark  street, 

when  a  figure  darted  out  of  a  doorway.    A  hand  was 

laid  upon  his  arm  and  he  heard : 

"Don't  go  that  way ;  youse  don't  want  t'  be  seen  by  a 

party  I'm  layin'  fer — go  back  home.     I'm  a-comin'  out 

purty  soon  an'  I've  got  a  piece  ov  news  fer  youse." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE    PROSPECTIVE    CANDIDATE    AT    A    CONFERENCE. 

Judge  Terwill,  actuated  solely  by  a  patriotic  desire  to 
serve  his  city(?),  had  called  a  conference  in  Fat  Fred's 
suite  at  the  Eagle  for  the  afternoon  of  the  day  follow 
ing  Holdon's  discovery  of  Price's  duplicity  and  his  sum 
mary  disposal  of  Harris. 

It  is  quite  probable  had  the  judge  known  the  status 
of  affairs  between  Price  and  his  master,  Price  would 
have  been  left  out,  and  Price,  who  had  been  working 
like  a  beaver  with  pattern  maker,  machine  builder  and 
model  maker,  had  a  grist  of  good  news  for  his  employer 
and  thought  there  would  be  an  excellent  opportunity  at 
the  conference  to  lay  these  matters  before  him.  Judge 
Terwill,  having  transacted  all  business  relative  to  Hoi- 
don  and  the  spring  campaign  through  Price,  naturally 
concluded  that  he  was  to  be  Holdon's  right-hand  man, 
suds  dispenser,  small  change  passer  and  molly-coddle 
buffer-in-general,  therefore  the  invitation. 

Price  arrived  ahead  of  his  employer.  When  the  lat 
ter  came  in,  and  after  greeting  the  others  present  sat 
down  as  far  away  from  Price  as  possible  and  without  a 
word  to  him,  that  gentleman  got  up,  went  over  to  the 
magnate  and  whispered:  "I've  got  a  lot  of  things  to 
tell  you—could  you "  he  got  no  farther. 

Tapping  the  arms  of  his  chair  to  keep  his  hands  off 
the  man  who  began  to  go  white  under  his  withering 
look,  Holdon  hissed:  "Yes,  you  have  a  lot  to  tell  me, 
and  you'll  come  when  I  send  for  you;  don't  forg-et 
that." 

Price  backed  away  and  resumed  his  seat  as  Fat  Fred 
called  upon  the  judge  to  state  the  reason  for  calling  the 
conference. 

The  judge,  carefully  measuring  his  utterances,  as 
sured  his  hearers  that  he  felt  honored,  etc.,  and  was  fol- 

425 


426  MILLS  OF   MAMMON 

lowing  this  introduction  with  a  plain  statement  of  facts, 
when  an  interruption  came. 

"Do  I  understand  that  whatever  may  be  said  here 
to-day  is  to  be  considered  confidential?"  Holdon  de 
manded  without  prefacing  his  speech  in  any  manner. 

"Most  assuredly,"  the  judge  beamed.  "We  have 
abundant  reason  to  be  careful." 

"Then  I  shall  have  to  request  the  withdrawal  of  that 
man,"  Holdon  pointed  at  Price. 

"Well,  well,  well;  but,  I  understood,"  the  judge  be 
gan,  while  the  other  gentlemen,  uncomfortable  and  em 
barrassed,  shot  furtive  glances  at  the  principals  in  the 
action,  but  kept  silent. 

'That  man,"  Holdon  insisted,  "must  withdraw,  or  I 
will  have  no  part  in  your " 

"I  demand  an  explanation,"  Price  spluttered,  but  his 
face  told  those  who  observed  him  that  he  lied. 

"Mr.  Price !  Mr.  Holdon !  Gentlemen,"  it  was  the 
suave-voiced  judge,  "let  us  understand  just  one  thing. 
Is  or  is  not  Mr.  Price  to  have  an  interest  in  the — er — 
matters  we  are  met  to  discuss?" 

"Never!"  Holdon  bellowed. 

"That  being  the  case,  gentlemen,  I  must  bear  the 
blame.  Without  consulting  Mr.  Holdon,  I  invited  Mr. 
Price  to  this  conference.  But,  of  course,  Mr.  Price  can 
have  no  desire  to  remain." 

"None  whatever,"  Price  mumbled,  and  left  the  room. 

With  the  atmosphere  cleared  and  the  remaining  vis 
itors  vouched  for  by  the  judge,  the  conference  pro 
gressed  smoothly;  a  new  state  machine  was  organized 
and  plans  laid  for  capturing  the  party  machinery  in  the 
city  before  the  spring  campaign  opened.  Through  it 
all  the  nicely  modulated  voice  of  the  judge  purred  on, 
calming  the  boisterous,  satisfying  the  skeptical,  encour 
aging  the  faint-hearted.  When  the  gentlemen  had  fin 
ished  their  labors,  it  was  understood  that  the  Hon.  Hor 
ace  Holdon  was  to  stand  as  the  business  man's  candi 
date  for  mayor.  Judge  Terwill  assumed  charge  of  the 
press  agency,  Gardner  took  the  saloons  and  gamblers, 
and  the  handling  of  the  preachers  and  temperance  peo 
ple  was  left  open.  The  judge  opined  he  had  the  very 
man  to  spread  the  salve  in  that  direction.  Well  satisfied 


THE  PROSPECTIVE  CANDIDATE  AT  A  CONFERENCE     427 

v/ith  each  other  and  joying  in  the  savory  smell  of  the 
flesh  pots  but  a  little  way  beyond,  the  conference  broke 
up. 

Before  leaving-  the  club,  Holdon  had  Price's  apart 
ments  called  up,  and  on  being  told  Price  was  there,  he 
gruffly  ordered  the  boy  to  hold  the  phone.  For  fully 
five  minutes  he  stood  before  the  instrument  with  clinch 
ed  fists  and  purple  face  before  he  could  master  his  anger 
enough  to  trust  his  voice.  Then,  taking  down  the  re 
ceiver,  he  asked  that  Price  be  called  to  the  phone. 

"That  you  Price?  What's  that?  Don't  talk  that 
way  to  me,  sir.  I — I — why — what's  that?  Yes,  I'll  be 
there,  nine  o'clock  to-night,  and  mind,  there's  to  be  no 
trying  to  dodge  the  issue.  You  either  make  good  or  by 
I'll  put  you  where — " 

"What's  that?     Oh,  you  will?" 

The  receiver  went  to  the  hook  with  a  bang,  and  the 
magnate  hurried  from  the  club. 

It  was  nearing  nine  o'clock  that  night,  when  two 
persons  started  downtown  from  the  building  in  which 
Price  had  his  apartments.  One  had  left  the  building 
through  the  front  exit,  the  other  had  sneaked  out  of  the 
shadowy  court  as  the  first  left  the  lighted  portal.  Down 
through  the  thoroughfares  they  went,  seemingly  in 
separable  as  substance  and  shadow.  At  the  entrance  to 
the  building  adjoining  "Shifty"  Smith's,  the  shadow 
paused  an  instant,  then  darted  in  after  the  substance. 

Three  hours  later  Mickey  entered  Charley  Harris' 
home  and  stood  looking  at  the  mechanic,  who  all  the 
evening  had  sat  brooding  over  his  troubles.  The  cripple 
looked  at  him  so  long  without  speaking  that  Charley  be 
gan  to  wonder  if  the  little  Irishman  had  lost  his  wits. 

"Well,  Mickey,  have  you  lost  your  voice?"  Charley 
finally  asked. 

"Not  me,  but  Fse  wonderin'  how  t'  tell  youse  what  I 
got  ter — so  as  youse  won't  lose  yer  head." 

"Lose  my  head?  Why,  Mickey,  if  anything  in  this 
world  could  make  me  lose  my  head,  I  wouldn't  have  it 
now." 

"Wouldn't?     Well,  don't  youse  be  too  sure." 

He  sat  down,  threw  off  his  coat  and  cap  and  seemed 
in  no  hurry  to  tell  his  news. 


428  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"Go  ahead,  Mickey,  I'm  waiting,"  the  other  admon 
ished. 

"All  right,  all  right;  I'se  found  yer  robber,  and  it's 
two  of  'em,  'stead  of  one." 

"Don't  joke,  Mickey,  please  don't." 
"No  joke,  Charley;  this  is  th'  word  with  th'  bark 
on  it.    I  seen  both  of  'em — heard  all  they  says — an'  now 
it's  up  t'  youse." 

"Heard  them !"  Charley  stood  with  his  hands  spread 
out  on  the  table,  every  nerve,  every  fiber  of  his  body 
tense.  "Mickey,  don't  tell  me  a  word  that  is  not  God 
Almighty's  truth."  He  measured  the  words  one  by  one 
in  a  low  voice.  "God  Almighty's  truth,  Mickey,  for  I 
am  not  to  be  played  with,  not  by  you,  even." 

The  cripple  looked  up  and  something  he  read  in  the 
mechanic's  face  caused  his  voice  to  tremble  as  he  went 
on: 

"It's  th'  truth,  Charley ;  I  seen  them— heard  them— 

an'— an' " 

"Go  on!" 

"Well,  if  I  must— it's  'Stinker'  Price  an'  th'  Boss— 
an'  I  wish't'  God  it  hadn't  a-bin'  th'  Boss.     I  ain't  got 
nothin'  agin  him  no  more — God  knows  I  ain't." 
"Price  and  Mr.  Holdon;  is  that  what  you  mean?" 
"Yes — them,  an'  nobody  else,"     Mickey  answered, 
passing  a  hand  over  his  eyes  to  rid  himself  of  the  face 
he  saw  across  the  table.    To  himself  he  said :    "He  takes 
it  a  sight  differenter  as  I  thought    he  would — jist  as 
quiet." 

"Go  on,  Mickey." 

"Well,  youse  remember  last  night,  how  I  twigged 
youse  an'  tells  yer  youse  better  go  th'  other  way?  Well, 
I  was  a-layin'  fer  'Stinker'  Price  then,  an'  I  was  some 
afraid  he  might  shy  off  ef  he  sees  youse  moonin'  'round. 
He  went  up  into  th'  buildin'  jist  th'  other  side  ov 
'Shifty'  Smith's  joint,  an'  I  most  froze  'fore  he  comes 
down;  then  purty  soon  down  comes  Mr.  Holdon.  Now 
I  hooks  'em  together  on  this  robbin'  business  to  oncet. 
Yer  got  t'  use  yer  headpiece  ef  youse  wants  t'  git  next 
t'  things  in  th'  mertropolis,  an'  youse  don't  never  want 
t'  forgit  nothin'.  I  remembers  how  Holdon  wants  yer 
machine,  an'  how  Price  was  so  mighty  anxious  t'  find 
youse  that  time  youse  hit  th'  grit;  so  when  I  meets  up 


THE  PROSPECTIVE  CANDIDATE  AT  A  CONFERENCE     429 

with  youse  this  time,  an'  youse  ses  as  how  some  bloke 
has  swiped  yer  fixin's  fer  th'  machine,  I  ses  t'  myself, 
'Mickey,  that  ain't  no  hard  nut  t'  crack;  jist  keep  yer 
lamps  on  'Stinker*  Price,  that's  all/  " 

"Yes,  and  then?" 

"Don't  look  at  me  that  way,"  the  narrator  protested. 
"I — I  hev  seen  only  one  set  of  eyes  that  looked  like 
yourn  do — an'  I  got  enough  t'  do  t'  fergit  them." 

Charley  mumbled  a  promise  not  to  look  that  way 
any  more  if  Mickey  would  finish  his  story. 

"Well,  I  was  right  as  a  rivet.  I  told  youse  I'd  seen 
yer  machine;  it's  in  a  little  shop  run  by  a  man  name 

of  Robinson — at  street.  I  follered  'Stinker' 

Price  there,  an'  when  he  went  away  I  made  up  to  Mr. 
Robinson — he's  as  innocent  as  can  be — an'  it  didn't  take 
me  but  two  days  t'  find  out  that  th'  'Stinker'  was  havin' 
a  machine  built.  Then  'cause  I  acted  like  I'm  half  nuts, 
an'  jist  can't  help  it,  I  gets  t'  see  th'  machine,  an'  holds 
things  an'  gits  tools  fer  Mr.  Robinson.  I  asks  youse, 
remember?  what  sort  of  machine  it  is,  an'  as  soon  as  ever 
youse  tells  me  I  knows  I  got  it  straight;  an'  to-night 
fixed  it."  The  cripple  paused,  got  up  and  seemed  loath 
to  finish  his  story. 

"Go  on,  go  on!  My  God,  man,  don't  you  see  how 
hard  I  am  trying  to  be — to  keep  quiet,  until  you  come  to 
the  end?" 

"And  then  what?"  Mickey  demanded,  shooting  a 
quick  look  at  the  other. 

"Leave  that  to  me — but  now — for  God's  sake — tell 
me  the  rest." 

"I  was  a-feared  of  it."  Mickey  spoke  more  to  him 
self  than  to  his  listener,  and  went  on: 

"Well,  to-night,  I  f oilers  th'  'Stinker'  t'  'Shifty's', 
he  goes  up  them  same  stairs  an'  I  follers.  Then  when 
he's  in  th'  back  end  of  a  side  hall,  he  lights  a  match, 
opens  a  door  an'  goes  in.  I  sees  his  match  go  out  an' 
steps  in  with  him.  When  I  thinks  what  he'll  do  t'  me 
if  he  lights  another  match  an'  sees  me,  I  purty  near 
croaks.  But,  I'm  in  there,  an'  he's  huntin'  fer  another 
match,  an'  swearin'  whilst  I  prays — prays,  that  he  ain't 
got  no  more  matches,  which  is  'bout  th'  only  prayer  I 
ever  had  answered,  fer  he  ain't  got  none.  Then  he  un 
locks  another  door  and  says,  'guess  I  better  see  if  that 


430  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

other  door  is  latched,'  an'  goes  back  t'  th'  first  one  an'  I 
dodges  in  t'  the  one  he's  jist  opened  a  minute  afore  an' 
begins  t'  feel  fer  some  place  t'  hide,  when  I  comes  t'  a 
other  door  an'  it  isn't  shut,  so  I  slips  in  an'  finds  I'm  in 
a  swell  bedroom.  Jist  then  I  hears  somebody  sing  out, 
That  you,  Price  ?'  an'  I  knows  to  oncet  it's  my  old  boss. 
I  makes  a  duck  under  th'  bed  an'  from  then'  on,  I  jist 
about  fergot  that  I  might  be  took  out  frum  under  that 
bed  an*  be  skinned  alive.  First  off,  Holdon's  fer  han- 
din'  Price  over  to  th'  police,  says  he's  robbed  him  of 
$25,000  an*  when  Price  mentions  your  machine,  Holdon 
fairly  sizzles,  he'*s  so  mad,  swears  that's  another  piece 
of  robbery,  says  he's  bin  bamboozled  by  both  of  youse. 
Then  th'  'Stinker'  tells  him  where  th'  machine  is  and 
that  by  to-morrer  night  he  can  have  th'  drawin's,  formu 
la  an*  other  papers  all  where  th'  boss  can  see  fer  himself 
that  th'  machine  is  all  t'  th'  good.  Then  old  Holdon 
fires  at  him.  'Hev  them  papers,  th'  assignment  of  your 
interest  an?  all  th'  rest  of  it  here  to-morrer  night  at  ten 
o'clock,  an'  we  will  settle  this  machine  business ;  an*  see 
that  youse  is  prompt,  too,  'cause  I'm  goin'  to  stay  here 
to-morrer  night  and  you'll  have  to  git  through  business 
by  eleven  o'clock.' " 

"Did  he  say  ten  o'clock?" 

"Yep,  ten  perzactly.  Well,  I  thought  th'  show  was 
about  over  an'  was  wonderin'  how  t'  make  me  git-away, 
when  Holdon  says:  'Are  youse  going  t'  be  prepared  t' 
repay  that  twenty-five  thousand  to-morrer  night?'  Price 
waits  a  minute  an'  then  says,  'I'll  promise  t'  set  youse 
right  on  th'  machine,  but  will  have  t'  take  a  little  more 
time  on  th'  money,'  when  Holdon  snaps  him  up.  'No, 
youse  don't;  we  clean  th'  whole  business  up  to-morrer 
night.  So  come  prepared,'  and  th'  'Stinker'  agrees.  An' 
they  leaves  suddin',  an'  say,  I'm  plum'  scared  till  I  gits 
t'  thinkin'  that  all  them  locks  jist  hev  keys  fer  th'  out- 
sides.  Ennybody  kin  git  out,  but  it  takes  keys  t'  git  in. 
Comin'  out  here',  I  gits  t'  thinkin'  how  them  gents  has 
bin  plannin'  t'  rob  youse  from  th'  start.  An'  how 
'Stinker'  Price  gits  it  inter  his  nut  t'  help  Holdon  rob 
youse.  Then  when  he  has  th'  old  man  where  th'  hair  is 
short,  up  an'  robs  him.  Say,  I'd  like  t'  be  up  there  to- 
morrer  night,  but  I  got  other  biz  t'  tend  t' — bet  yer  life 
it  will  be  gay." 


THE  PROSPECTIVE  CANDIDATE  AT  A  CONFERENCE     43! 

"Well,  why  don't  youse  say  something?"  Mickey  in 
quired  after  waiting  a  long  time  for  Charley  to  com 
ment  upon  his  story. 

"It's  up  to  me  to  do,  the  saying's  all  been  done."  The 
tone  of  the  speaker,  was  level',  matter-of-fact,  subdued, 
and  Mickey  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"Well,  what  do  youse  think  ov  that?  Cooler'n  me, 
an'  it  wasn't  my  machine."  Mickey  commented  to  him 
self  while  watching  his  host. 

"You  say  Price  is  to  have  the  drawings  up  there  to 
morrow — no,  to-night?  It's  past  one,  Mickey." 

"Yep,  an'  now  I  put  youse  next,  I'm  gcin'  t'  look  aft 
er  a  little  biz  of  my  own  to-morrer,  but  I'll  run  out  here 
in  a  day  or  two  an'  see  how  things  is  comin' — I'd  advise 
youse  t'  see  a  lawyer." 

"I  won't  need  a  lawyer,  and,  Mickey,  I  never  ex 
pect  to  be  able  to  thank  you  in  this  world " 

"An'  no  other  counts  with  me,"  the  cripple  inter 
rupted.  "When  I  gits  out  of  this  cussed  old  world,  I 
wants  t'  take  a  rest,  an'  I  don't  want  nobody  comin' 
'round  thankin'  me  fer  anything  I  ever  done  here.  I 
want  ter  fergit  it." 

"Then  let  me  thank  you  now,  and,  Mickey,  if  any 
thing  should  happen  to  me,  and  we  should  not  meet 
again,  remember  I  hold  you  the  best  and  truest  friend 
I  ever  had,  my  mother  excepted." 

"That  goes,"  Mickey  grinned.  "That  goes— an'  th' 
best  luck  I  could  wish  youse  fer  to-night  is  that  youse 
could  be  under  that  bed.  So  long." 

Charley  stood  in  the  doorway  watching  the  cripple  as 
he  made  his  way  down  the  street,  then  turning  the  key, 
he  went  to  the  light,  drew  a  key  ring  from  his  pocket 
and  examined  two  keys  closely. 

"I  wonder  does  he  remember — no,  of  course  he  does 
not,  and  if  he  did,  unless  he  suspected  or  had  discovered 
Mickey,  poor  little  chap,  he  would  never  think  of  the 
possibility  of " 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

MICKEY  MEETS  A  TOPNOTCHER. 

There  was  but  one  party  at  interest  whose  fear  of 
meeting  Fly  Boyd  grew  as  the  days  of  her  coming  grew 
nearer,  and  that  was  Mickey. 

What  would  she  do — how  would  she  receive  the  baby  ? 
How  much  of  his  story  dare  he  tell  her?  How  should 
he  tell  it?  "Any  ways,"  he  concluded,  as  he  mulled  the 
matter  over  for  the  hundredth  time,  "they  don't  none  ov 
'em  take  my  baby  away  from  me.  Wasn't  de  kid's 
mother  bugs  ?  Mighty  queer  she  was  set  on  a-sayin'  she 
ain't  never  had  no  baby.  An'  the  doc  says  they  was  a 
blank  in  her  headpiece  an'  a  obsession  of  some  sort  in 
her  thinkin'  work;  an'  me  a-sittin'  there  a-tryin'  t'  look 
wise,  when  all  I  kin  do  is  bat  me  lamps  an'  nod,  an'  me 
not  a-knowin'  a  darned  word  he's  a-sayin'  hardly.  Say, 
I  wisht  it  was  over,  I  wisht  Fly  would  come." 

And  Fly  came,  but  Mickey  Dougherty  did  not  meet 
her  that  day.  He  had  found  other  business,  as  we  have 
seen;  business  so  engrossing  that  he  even  forgot  the 
baby;  of  course,  he  wouldn't  have  forgotten  the  baby  or 
missed  Fly's  home-coming  had  he  not  known  that  Mamie 
would  care  for  the  baby,  and  not  being  at  the  Michigan 
avenue  house  the  day  a  wire  came,  telling  them  the  mis 
tress  would  arrive  two  days  ahead  of  schedule,  and  then 
the  business — well,  surely  Mickey  may  be  excused. 

When  Mamie  began  the  story  of  Mickey  and  the 
baby,  Fly  asked :  "When  will  his  highness,  Mr.  Mickey, 
arrive  ?" 

"I've  been  expecting  him  any  minute  for  three  days." 

"Well,  he  wants  to  put  in  an  appearance  inside  of  an 
other  three  days,  for  I  want  to  know  this  baby-hiding 
business  to  the  bottom." 

"I  can  tell  you  part  of  the  story,  Flo,  and  I  think  you 
will  agree  that  I  have  done  the  right  thing."  Flo  (to 

432 


MICKEY   MEETS  A  TOPNOTCHER  433 

Mamie,  she  was  always  "Flo"),  leaning  back  in  a 
comfortable  chair,  evinced  her  willingness  to  listen,  and 
Mamie  began.  "You  know  how  they  came  here,  and 
I've  kept  you  posted  on  everything  up  to  the  time  she 
died.  When  she  got  over  that  first  bad  spell  the  doctor 
said  she'd  live,  for  her  mind  was  freed  from  the  sorrow 
that  had  been  killing  her.  When  she  got  well  enough  to 
talk,  she  wanted  to  know  where  she  was,  and  said  she 
had  had  such  an  awful  bad  dream.  Looking  all  about 
and  at  us,  she  wanted  to  know  who  we  were  and  how 
she  came  to  be  with  us.  My  head  ac'hed  from  answer 
ing  her  questions,  and  I  guess  hers  did,  too,  from  try 
ing  to  understand  my  answers.  When  Dr.  Thomas 
came,  the  first  thing  he  said  was,  Well,  really,  I  didn't 
expect  this;  she  will  get  well,  but  it  is  doubtful  if  she 
ever  regains  all  her  senses.  I  must  see  that  little  Irish 
man  and  make  him  talk.'  Before  he  went  away  he  had 
an  opportunity  to  talk  to  Mickey,  but  when  I  asked  him 
if  he  had  learned  anything,  he  only  shook  his  head.  One 
morning  when  she  was  able  to  sit  up,  Mickey,  who  had 
suffered  keenly  because  she  didn't  know  him,  proposed 
that  we  try  what  the  baby  could  do  toward  bringing  her 
back  to  consciousness  of  the  past.  The  baby  was  brought 
in  by  Jane,  and  Mickey  took  it  and  carried  it  over  to 
her.  She  looked  at  it  and  smiling  asked,  Whose  baby  is 
it?  Isn't  it  a  beautiful  little  thing?'  At  that  Mickey 
lost  command  of  himself.  His  face  went  white  and  as 
he  suddenly  thrust  the  baby  into  her  arms,  he  exclaimed, 
Td  think  you'd  be  ashamed  to  disown  your  own  baby; 
and  it  with  no  father  or  nothing  but  you  an*  me  to  take 
care  of  it !'  She  had  caught  the  little  thing  in  her  arms 
when  he  thrust  it  upon  her,  but  before  he  had  finished 
speaking,  she  dropped  it  in  her  lap  and  looked  distressed : 
'It  isn't  my  baby ;  I  couldn't  have  had  a  baby.  Oh,  won't 
some  one  take  it  away  and  send  that  horrid  little  man 
out  of  my  sight?'  That  was  all  she  said,  but  the  dis 
tressed  voice  and  the  bitter  weeping  that  followed  Mick 
ey's  experiment  convinced  us  that  it  was  best  to  let  her 
have  her  own  way.  I  did  my  best  to  make  her  believe 
it  a  joke,  but  with  little  success.  She  declared  it  was 
simply  awful  for  Mickey  to  do  such  a  thing.  I  left  her 
and  found  Mickey  in  Jane's  room  on  his  knees  by  the 
baby's  bed,  crying  as  though  his  heart  would  break." 


434  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

Mamie  paused  and  looked  fixedly  at  Fly.  "I  hope  he 
will  tell  you  all  the  story.  There  is  a  tragedy  back  of  his 
love  for  this  woman  and  baby;  it's  written  all  over  his 
face." 

"He  will  tell  me,"  Fly  declared. 
****** 

"Hello,  Mickey,  they  tell  me  you  have  gotten  to  be  a 
man  of  family  since  last  I  saw  you." 

Fly  Boyd  met  our  little  Irishman  with  outstretched 
hand,  as  he  entered  her  parior  the  morning  after  he  had 
delivered  his  startling  news  to  Charley  Harris. 

"Yep,  guess  I'm  it  all  right,  ail  right,"  he  responded. 
"But  say,  youse  is  good  to  lo©k  at  in  them  togs.  Say,  d' 
youse  know,  Mamie  jist  about  flunked  when  I  brung  the 
missus  and  baby  here.  She  sure  got.cold  feet." 

"Do  you  blame  her?"  Fly  asked,  as  she  pointed  him 
to  a  chair. 

"Well,  rfot  so  as  youse  ud  notice ;  I  reckon  it  was  a 
big  contract  t'  put  up  t'  her." 

"I  should  say  so;  anti  the  baby,  Mickey?  Whose  is 
it,  and  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  it?" 

"Whose  it  is,"  Mickey  answered  after  some  delibera 
tion,  "was  fer  it's  mother  t'  say.  What  I'm  goin'  t'  do 
with  it  is  a  heap  sight  bigger  question  than  I  kin  find  a 
answer  to  jist  now." 

"But  if  you'd  tell,  we  could  make  its  father  take  care 
of  it,  you  know.  Otherwise,  it  will  have  to  go -to  some 
orphans'  home." 

"No,  that  kid  don't  go  t'  no  old  orfing's  home.  An' 
it  don't  need  no  father  t'  take  care  of  it.  I'm  a-goin'  t' 
see  that  kid  raised,  an'  say — why  won't  youse  kind  of 
'dopt  it,  Fly?  Youse'd  look  mighty  good  with  a  baby 
like  that." 

The  peal  of  laughter  that  greeted  this  speech  rather 
dampened  his  ardor.  What  could  she  see  that  was  laugh- 
provoking  in  a  thing  that  to  him  was  all  tragedy? 

"Really,  Mickey,  you  are  too  droll.  The  very  idea." 
And  again  the  woman  laughed. 

"I  don't  see  nothin'  funny  'bout  this  here  biz,"  Mick 
ey  protested. 

"You  don't?"  Fly  gasped  between  paroxysms  of 
laughter.  "Why,  it's  the  funniest  thing  that  ever  hap- 


MICKEY   MEETS  A  TOPNOTCHER  435 

pened.  Whatever  put  it  into  your  head  to  ask  me  to 
adopt  the  baby?" 

"What's  a  feller  a-goin'  t'  do  with  th'  kid,  ef  some  of 
his  fren's  won't  'dopt  it?" 

"I  said  you  could  send  it  to  an " 

"An'  I  says  nit!  I  got  t'h'  coin  t'  bring  that  kid  up 
a  lady,  an',  an' " 

"You've  got  the  coin?"  Incredulity  written  in  every 
line,  Fly  looked  intently  at  her  visitor.  "Now,  Mickey, 
lets  talk  business,"  she  admonished.  "You  say  you  have 
the  coin.  How  much,  that's  the  question?" 

"Well,  how  much  had  it  oug'ht  to  cost  to  keep  er  kid 
like  that  a  year?"  Mickey  parried. 

"Oh,  two  or  three  hundred  a  year,  and  you  know, 
you  can't  possibly  get  that  much  together  year  after 
year,"  she  answered  lightly. 

"Can't  I  ?  Say,  Fly,  I  kin  show  youse  in  a  minute — 
say,  I  kin  keep  dat  kid  dressed  in  velvet,  an'  eatin'  offen 
nuthin'  but  gold  dishes  fer  a  hundred  years !" 

Diving  into  a  pocket,  Mickey  fished  up  a  handful  of 
bills,  and  held  them  out  for  Fly's  inspection. 

"And  they's  more  where  that  come  frum,"  he  con 
cluded  as  she  took  the  bills. 

"Twelve  hundred  dollars?  W'here  in  this  world  did 
you  get  it,  Mickey?" 

"Where  I  had  a  right  to  take  it  fer  th'  kid."  He  col 
ored  up  and  looked  troubled  when  Fly  pressed  her  ques 
tion. 

"They  ain't  no  use,  Fly,  an'  youse  is  just  wastin' 
time.  They  ain't  nobody  but  me  an'  God,  if  they  is  one, 
as  knows,  an'  when  I'm  dead,  they  won't  be  nobody 
know.  Say,"  he  looked  square  into  her  eyes :  "Youse 
never  knowed  me  to  be  nothin'  but  square,  did  youse?" 

"No,  Mickey,  I  never  did." 

"Then  ef  I  tells  youse  I  hev  a  right  t'  that  money 
long  as  I  uses  it  t'  fake  care  ov  th'  kid,  youse'll  b'leve 
me,  won't  yer?" 

"Y-e-s,  Mickey,  I  believe  you.  But  it  seems  so 
strange." 

"An'  Fly,  it's  stranger  as  it  seems,"  he  answered  with 
a  sigh,  then  looked  up  to  ask :  "What  th'  hell  am  I  goin* 
t'  do  ef  youse  won't  'dopt  th'  kid?  I  had  my  heart  set 
on  youse;  course  Mamie'd  take  her,  but  Mamie  ain't 


MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

Mamie,  he  was  worth  his  weight  in  gold,  even  if  he  did 
let  trouble  and  dope  get  the  best  of  him." 

"Yes,  he  was  white,"  Mamie  admitted;  then  asked: 
"What  in  the  world  did  you  want  to  get  your  hooks  into 
Holdon  for  anyway?" 

Fly  clasped  her  hands  in  her  lap  and,  bending  for 
ward,  sat  silent  with  her  eyes  on  a  figure  in  the  carpet 
for  a  time,  then  looking  up  quickly,  said : 

"You  remember,  I  had  just  broken  with  Jim  and  was 
desperate.  The  scheme  came  to  me  after  reading  a  well 
written  story  in  a  Sunday  paper.  I  thought  I  would 
marry  this  old  millionaire  when  he  wasn't  around,  go 
to  Europe  with  him  and  milk  him  for  all  he  would  let 
loose  of,  then  come  home  and  tell  him  what  he  was  up 
"against  and  get  a  lump  sum  from  him  in  order  to  keep 
me  quiet  and  save  him  the  notoriety  an  explosion  would 
cause." 

"And  why  didn't  you  do  it  ?"  Mamie  wanted  to  know. 

"Because  he  was  too  good  to  me,  too  good,  Mamie. 
Why,  there  never  was  an  hour  when  he  did  not  treat  me 
better  than  the  majority  of  men  treat  their  wives,  I 
fancy.  So,  bacl  as  I  am,  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  it, 
I  could  not;  and  if  I  could  destroy  the  record  of  that 
little  piece  of  business  over  in  Michigan,  I  would  gladly 
do  it.  The  cold  facts  are,  Mamie,  I'm  afraid  it  will  come 
out.  What  could  I  tell  him ;  what  could  I  do  ?" 

"Have  you  forgotten  Jim  ?"  the  maid  asked,  reproval 
in  her  voice. 

"Forgotten  Jim?  No,  I  have  not;  I  never  shall.  But 
this  case  is  different.  Mr.  Holdon  has  been  square  with 
me,  and  if  I  had  known  him  as  well  then,  well,  I  wouldn't 
have  lugged  poor  old  Tom  over  to  Michigan!" 

"As  long  as  he  don't  know,  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  fret  about  it,"  Mamie  protested;  then  advised: 

"If  I  was  you,  I'd  stick  as  long  as  he's  good,  and 
when  it's  safe,  I'd  let  folks  know  how  friendly  he  is. 
Some  day  that  Siarriage  may  prove  the  best  investment 
you  ever  made." 

"So  you'd  go  up  there  to-night?"  Fly  questioned. 

"Sure  I'd  go.  What  are  such  men  good  for,  if  it  isn't 
to  keep  up  the  running  expenses?" 


CHAPTER   XX. 

A    HAND  AT   HOLDON^S. 

Mr.  Abner  was  a  much  shrewder  manager  of  men 
than  either  the  Hon.  Horace  Holdon  or  Mr.  Franklin 
Price,  and  it  followed  that  while  he  boiled  privately,  he 
was  all  smiles  when  any  of  his  hands  were  about.  The 
reports  from  the  Corporations'  Protective  Association 
had  convinced  him  that  there  was  a  "leak"  in  his  office 
and  a  dangerous  one.  Taking  over  another  man's  busi 
ness  along  with  his  mistakes  but  intensified  Mr.  Abner's 
determination  to  rid  himself  of  the  mistakes,  greatest 
among  which  was  the  "raise"  the  hands  had  secured 
through  Price's  tactical  blunder.  But  the  new  manager- 
president  was  not  to  rush  blindly  into  a  readjustment  of 
wages.  First,  he  had  to  find  the  "leak,"  then  gradually 
dispose  of  the  more  aggressive  unionists ;  then,  and  only 
then,  could  he  put  into  execution  his  plans  for  a  wide- 
open  shop.  From  the  first  he  strongly  suspected  the 
foreman  and  the  confidential  clerk  Mr.  Holdon  had  so 
warmly  commended.  To  be  forearmed  is  better  far  than 
to  be  forewarned.  And  Mr.  Abner  knew  just  what  he 
proposed  to  do,  therefore  set  about  arming  for  the  bat 
tle  he  proposed  to  bring  on.  His  attorneys  were  given 
the  names  of  all  the  unions  having  members  in  the  Hol 
don  plant  and  of  the  officials  of  the  same,  together  with 
instructions  to  prepare  a  blanket  injunction  against  them 
individually  and  collectively. 

"And  make  it  strong,  so  strong  they  can't  do  more 
than  breathe,  then  when  the  crash  comes  I'll  put  them 
Out  of  business  once  and  for  all.  When  the  thing's  ready 
bring  it  to  me ;  I  want  to  look  it  over."  These  were  his 
exact  words.  And  the  forthcoming  injunction  pleased 
him. 

"Can  you  find  a  judge  who  would  issue  it?  They 
tell  me  most  of  your  judges  are  politicians  and  are 
afraid  of  the  unions,"  he  observed  to  the  attorney,  and 
on  that  point  he  was  reassured. 

439 


44O  MILLS  OF   MAMMON 

Moses  Webster,  who  when  a  boy  took  up  his  home 
with  the  people  who  later  gave  him  their  name,  found 
a  note  purporting  to  be  from  Moran  on  his  desk  one 
morning  shortly  after  the  president  had  examined  the 
injunction  he  proposed  to  use  as  a  club  over  the  hands. 
As  a  result,  he  went  out  to  the  moulding  floor  to  see 
what  Moran  wanted. 

"Why,  man  alive,  I  never  left  a  note  for  you,  not  on 
union  business.  Say,  don't  do  it  again,"  the  foreman 
advised.  "I  tell  you,  for  all  his  smiling,  the  new  boss 
isn't  asleep,  an'  you  want  to  be  careful." 

Puzzled,  the  young  man  returned  to  his  desk.  And 
after  examining  the  note  carefully,  thought,  "If  I'd  taken 
a  second  look  at  it,  I  would  have  known  Moran  never 
sent  it  in." 

"Mr.  Abner  wants  you,"  a  boy  announced. 

Webster  looked  up,  then  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
and  was  lost  in  thought  until  the  boy  appeared  again. 
At  the  second  summons  he  hurried  into  the  president's 
office. 

"Well,  young  man,  how's  the  Moulder's  Union?" 
The  question  came  point  blank  and  the  clerk  stood 
dumb.  "Did  you  see  Moran?"  came  next,  and  Moses 
answered  "Yes."  "Well,  young  man,  I  don't  know  that 
I  ought  to  waste  words  on  you,  but  I  will  say  this  much, 
if  half  I  believe  of  you  is  true,  I  ought  to  kick  you  off 
the  premises." 

To  this  the  clerk  made  no  reply.    He  knew  his  doom. 

"I  didn't  think  you'd  have  anything  to  say,  a  sneak 
ing  spy  such  as  you  generally  is  dumb  when  even  con 
fronted  with  a  suspicion  that  he's  been  found  out." 

"So  I'm  a  sneaking  spy,  am  I?"  The  man  in  him 
had  found  voice. 

The  president  whirled  about  in  his  chair. 

"Yes,  you  are,"  he  thundered,  and  the  stenographer 
hastily  quit  her  seat. 

"Stay  there,  Miss  Wagner,  if  you  please ;  I  may  need 
you,"  he  commanded,  and  Moses  now  ready  for  battle, 
replied  with  spirit: 

"Yes,  have  Miss  Wagner  stay,  have  her  stay;  you 
may  need  her,  but  not  to  take  down  what  I  have  to  say 
to  you — you " 


A   HAND  AT   HOLDON'S  44! 

"What  have  you  to  say?  Well,  I  like  that."  Mr. 
Abner  had  recovered  his  poise.  "I  like  that,"  he  re 
peated.  "An  informer,  spy,  ingrate,  has  something  to 
say  to  the  man  who  has  found  him  out.  Go  ahead,  young 
man,  and  you,"  to  the  stenographer,  "see  that  you  don't 
miss  a  word." 

"Now,  young  man,  what  have  you  to  say?" 

The  president  leaned  back  smiling,  but  when  he 
looked  into  the  face  and  saw  the  eyes  of  the  man  stand 
ing  beside  his  desk,  the  smile  faded. 

"You  have  made  it  easy,  Mr.  Abner,  easy  for  me  to 
tell  you  just  what  I  think  of  you  and  the  rest  of  the 
employers  of  labor,  who  organized  the  Corporations' 
Protective  Association."  Moses  paused  a  moment,  drew 
a  long  breath  and  trained  his  guns  upon  the  enemy.  "It 
comes  with  poor  grace  from  you  to  accuse  another  of 
being  a  spy,  when  you,  too  cowardly  to  do  a  spy's  work, 
hire,  with  the  profits  you  take  out  of  the  workers,  a  lot 
of  the  world's  outcasts  to  spy  upon  the  men  whose  in 
dustry  made  your  wealth."  Abner  put  up  a  hand  in 
protest.  "No  you  don't ;  I  will  have  it  out !  And  I  dare 
you  to  call  any  one,  and  you  can't  put  me  out ;  you,  you 
Sunday  saint!  Haven't  I  followed  you  to  church? 
Don't  I  know  that  you  and  I  profess  the  same  religion? 
Yes,  and  I  also  know  that  it  was  my  religion  that  caused 
me  to  expose  the  Holdon  Company's  infamous  scheme  to 
put  perjured  spies  into  the  unions;  and  since  I  have 
known  you,  and  know  that  you  are  hand  in  glove  with 
the  spy  furnishers  and  are  at  this  time  planning  the  de 
struction  of  the  workers'  sole  defense  against  your 
greed,  I  often  wonder  if  it  is  your  religion  that  makes 
you  a  reprobate  or " 

"Stop  that!"  Abner  was  on  his  feet.  "Stop  that, 
you  cur !"  With  clinched  fists  and  livid  face,  he  took  one 
step  toward  the  clerk. 

"Not  another  inch,  you  whited  sepulcher,  not  an 
other  inch!  As  I  am  a  Christian,  if  you  cross  the  bor 
der  of  that  rug,  I'll  forget  your  age,  everything,  and  do 
what  I've  longed  to  do  ever  since  I  learned  that  you  were 
no  better  than  Price  or  Holdon." 

The  president  halted,  and  in  a  torrent  Moses  poured 
forth  his  pent-up  indignation. 

"What  do  such  men  as  you  care  for  us — the  men  and 


442  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

women  who  work  for  you?  What  do  you  care  whether 
our  families  live  or  die,  whether  we  rot  in  filth  or  give 
way  in  the  struggle  for  existence  and  help  swell  your 
criminal  class?  What  do  you  care?  And  yet,  you  are 
a  Christian!  God  save  the  name  of  Christian.  You,  a 
Christian!  Why,  your  soul  isn't  big  enough  to  lay  on 
the  furnace  grates  in  hell — it  would  fall  through  into 
the  ash  pit.  A  man  who  will  hire  a  conscienceless 
wretch  to  perjure  his  soul  for  a  few  filthy  dollars  isn't 
fit  to  be  named  barbarian,  to  say  nothing  of  parading  as 
a  follower  of  Jesus  Christ." 

"I  tell  you  I  will  not  hear  more  of  this;  you  are  a 
fit  candidate  for  an  asylum  !'*  Abner  sat  down  and 
reached  for  the  button  which  once  pressed  would  bring  a 
clerk  to  the  room  at  double  quick. 

"Don't  put  your  finger  on  that,  or  by  all  that's  holy, 
I'll  give  the  whole  works  just  what  you're  getting," 
Moses  declared,  and  Abner  withdrew  his  hand  and  bent 
his  head  to  listen.  "When  I  first  discovered  that  Hoi- 
don  was  of  your  stripe  I  wanted  to  quit  my  job,  but  I 
thought  they  might  not  bring  on  the  spies  after  all.  Then 
when  they  did  come,  I  either  had  to  surrender  my  re 
ligion  or  become  an  informer  and  spy  in  defense  of  the 
men.  I  chose  to  stick  to  the  men;  and  I  want  you  to 
understand  that  the  only  thing  I  regret  in  the  whole  con 
nection  is  that  the  men  did  not  treat  Price  to  the  same 
dose  they  gave  the  spies.  So  far  as  you  are  concerned, 
my  prayer  is  that  if  you  bring  on  another  bunch  of  free- 
born  patriotic  perjurers  the  men  will  take  you  out  and 
treat  you  the  same  as  they  did  Farley  and  the  others." 

Moses  sat  down,  but  Abner  did  not  look  up.  How 
ever,  Miss  Wagner  did,  and  the  young  man  glancing  at 
her,  read  approval  in  her  eyes. 

"I've  had  my  say,"  Moses  went  on  after  a  painful 
silence,  "and  it's  up  to  you — make  it  short." 

Slowly  the  great  financier  turned  in  his  chair,  his 
face  white  and  drawn. 

"Young  man,"  he  began,  "I  don't  want  even  a  dog  to 
hold  such  an  opinion  of  me  as  you  have  formed.  I — I 
never — ,"  he  paused  to  pass  a  hand  over  his  face.  "I 
— never  heard  such  talk  in  my  life,  and  I  don't  know 
how  to  meet  it";  another  pause.  "I  thought 
they  paid  you  for  the  information — I  really  did." 


A   HAND  AT   HOLDON'S  443 

"Then  you  were  mistaken.  I  was  paid  through  the 
approval  of  my  own  conscience,  and  while  I  faced,  and 
face  now,  the  greatest  misery  that  may  fall  upon  a  prop- 
ertyless  man,  lack  of  employment,  embittered  by  the 
knowledge  that  you  will  blacklist  me,"  Abner  winced, 
"yes,  blacklist  me — I  will  go  out  of  your  office  clean  in 
heart  and  soul,  clean  in  thought,  and  ready  to  face  any 
indignity  your  power  may  put  upon  me  and  mine.  I 
have  done  a  man's  duty  in  as  dirty  a  fight  for  dollars  as 
was  ever  waged  against  the  men  of  my  class." 

The  stenographer  sat  biting  the  end  of  her  pencil 
and  Abner,  lost  in  thought,  induced  by  the  problem  of 
what  to  do  with  this  young  rebel,  pen  in  hand,  sat  mark 
ing  his  blotter  with  long  strokes. 

"Mr.  Holdon  to  see  you,  sir,"  a  clerk  at  the  door  an 
nounced. 

And  Mr.  Abner  relieved  for  the  moment  of  an  awk 
ward  burden,  responded  with  alacrity,  "Tell  him  to 
come  in." 

"And  me?"  Moses  queried  as  Mr.  Holdon  entered. 

"Oh,  I'll  attend  to  that  later,"  the  employer  answered, 
his  tone  implying  that  the  matter  referred  to  was  tri 
vial. 

For  the  remainder  of  the  day  Moses  worked  but  lit 
tle.  He  sat  dreaming  of  a  hunt  for  work,  always  end 
ing  in  refusal  because  he  had  dared  to  be  a  man  in  the 
presence  of  one  who  had  insulted  him,  and  wondered 
how  he  would  break  the  news  to  the  little  wife.  Then, 
too,  he  wondered  when  Abner  would  send  for  him,  or  if 
he  did  not,  how  he  would  be  disposed  of,  who  would  act 
as  headsman? 

That  night  he  entered  his  modest  little  home  weight 
ed  with  a  thousand  cares  that  grew  as  he  dwelt  upon 
them. 

"Oh,  Moses,  I  have  such  good  news !  Why,  what's 
the  matter,  are  you  sick  dear?"  The  exclamation  and 
question  came  in  a  breath  as  the  wife  lifted  her  face  for 
a  kiss. 

"If  your  good  news  will  offset  my  bad  news,"  the 
husband  began — 

"Offset  your  bad  news?  Why,  nothing  in  the  world 
can  be  bad  enough  to  weigh  a  feather." 


/{ /| /|  MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

"Don't  be  too  sure,"  he  smiled  in  spite  of  himself,  as 
he  looked  into  her  radiant  face. 

"Too  sure;  why,  Moses,  I  know.  Haven't  I  got  the 
letter  ?  You  know  how  badly  I  have  wanted  to  get  out 
of  this  dirty  city  for  the  children's  sake?" 

"Yes,  dear,  I  know." 

"Don't  frown  so ;  you  do  nothing  else  when  you  come 
from  work  lately,  nothing  else." 

"Don't  I  love  you  and  let  the  kids  use  me  for  a  rid 
ing  horse?"  he  demanded,  taking  her  in  his  arms. 

"Oh,  yes — but  you  don't  listen  to  my  news,"  she 
pouted.  "And  it  is  almost  too  good  to  be  true." 

"I'm  listening." 

"Well,  it  took  you  a  long  time.  You  know  how 
much  I  love  Mother  Webster?  Well,  they,  she  and 
father,  have  written  that  they  want  to  quit  the  farm  and 
move  into  that  new  town  near  them,  and  father  wants 
you  to  take  charge  of  the  farm."  Moses  whistled.  "But 
that's  not  the  best  news ;  you  know  they  always  said  you 
should  have  the  property  some  day?  Well,  mother 
writes  that  they  have  decided  that  this  is  no  place  for 
the  children,  and  you  know  I  never  complained  to  her, 
and  to  induce  you  to  go  to  them  they  are  going  to  give 
us  the  farm  now." 

"Wait  a  minute,  mother,"  the  astonished  husband 
protested.  This  being  lifted  out  of  poverty  in  a  city 
and  a  jobless  poverty  at  that,  was  too  enervating;  it 
was  of  the  species  of  joy  that  kills.  "Wait  a  minute, 
mother,"  he  protested,  "I— I- 


"Moses,  you  are  crying,  what  in  the  world- 


He  drew  her  closer  to  him  and  allowed  his  tears  to 
fall  unchecked.  Back  across  the  years,  memory  carried 
him  to  that  night,  that  one  night  in  his  life  that  would 
ever  stand  out  distinct  from  all  other  nights.  He  saw 
a  sweet- faced  mother,  whose  only  babe  had  been  taken 
from  her,  gather  a  poor,  half-crazed  little  wanderer  to 
her  bosom ;  and  from  that  day  to  the  hour  when  he  had 
gone  out  of  her  home  into  the  great  world  she  had  been 
his  rock  in  time  of  need.  And  here,  at  another  crucial 
moment  in  his  life,  her  hand  and  that  of  her  jovial,  big- 
hearted  husband,  were  held  out  to  him,  to  his. 

Do  you  wonder  that  the  flood  gates  opened? 


CHAPTER   XXL 


THE  PLOTTERS  MEET. 

"You  are  at  least  punctual  in  keeping  your  engage 
ment,"  Hoi  don  eyed  the  roll  of  papers  and  parcel  Price 
deposited  on  the  table,  then  continued.  "I  suppose  you 
are  prepared  to  meet  my  demand  for  the  return  of  the 
money  you  appropriated  during  my  absence?" 

Price  stood  beside  a  chair  he  had  drawn  up  alongside 
the  one  occupied  by  his  employer. 

"First,  allow  me  to  suggest  that  we  settle  the  ques 
tion  of  the  existence  or  non-existence  of  the  Harris  ma 
chine,"  he  advised,  as  he  sat  down. 

"Oh,  that's  settled,  I  had  Robinson  on  the  'phone," 
Holdon  answered.  "I  am  more  interested  in  that  money 
than  in  anything  else  just  at  present." 

"And  I  insist  that  we  will  be  able  to  settle  that  little 
point  more  amicably  when  you  have  my  report,  and  see 
the  figure  this  machine  deal  has  set  me  back,"  the  other 
persisted. 

"Well,  have  it  your  way  now ;  but  I  warn  you,  there 
isn't  anything  you  can  say  will  prevent  me  having  that 
money  out  of — "  he  ceased  speaking  and  got  to  his 
feet 

"What  was  that?"  he  demanded,  searching  the  room 
from  end  to  end  with  his  eyes,  his  hands  spread  out  upon 
the  table  before  him.  "What  was  that?"  he  repeated, 
while  Price  looked  up  quizzically  to  ask:  "What  was 
what?" 

"Why,  I'd  swear  I  heard  some  one  moving  in  this 
room." 

Price  smiled  and  untied  the  papers,  while  Holdon 
went  through  the  rooms  in  a  vain  search  for  that  some 
one.  When  he  returned  to  the  table,  Price,  without  com 
ment  upon  the  interruption,  plunged  into  the  case  in 
hand.  Step  by  step,  he  knit  about  his  vis-a-vis  the  web 
in  which  he  hoped  to  hold  him.  From  the  beginning, 

445 


446  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

he  laid  great  stress  upon  the  fact  that  he  had  been  deputed 
to  get  possession  of  the  confidence  of  Harris,  then  secure 
the  machine  or  the  plans  for  it.  Next,  he  took  up  his 
relations  with  Robinson  and  recounted  the  various  steps 
he  had  taken  to  insure  the  building  of  the  two  machines. 
When  he  had  finished,  he  said : 

"'In  view  of  the  fact  that  I  have  succeeded  in  getting 
this  machine  Robinson  is  finishing  in  shape  for  what  can 
not  fail  to  be  a  successful  test,  and  have  the  model  so 
far  along  that  it  can  be  finished  within  the  week,  don't 
you  think  I  had  a  right  to  draw  sufficient  funds  to  meet 
any  emergency  that  might  arise,  without  calling  you  into 
the  case,  and  in  event  of  a  show-down,  exposing  you 

''Never  mind  that  Price,"  Holdon  interrupted.  "Just 
pass  those  figures  over;  I  want  to  see  how  much  you 
have  set  over  against  this  job." 

"The  figure  is  stiff  enough,"  he  commented,  after 
carefully  scrutinizing  the  statement  Price  had  prepared. 
"But  it  don't  commence  to  cover  the  twenty-odd  thou 
sand  you  took." 

"No,  it  don't;  but  I  have  not  finished  the  job.  Be 
sides,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  man  who  is  competent  to 
handle  so  delicate  a  piece  of  business  is  entitled  to  some 
thing  more  than  wages." 

"And  you  call  this  a  delicate  job  ?"  Holdon  exclaimed 
in  disgust.  '"'Why,  man,  a  fool  could  have  robbed  Harris 
of  his  eyes.  Delicate  nothing !  It  was  boy's  play !" 

"It  may  seem  so  to  you,  who  had  no  part  in  working 
it  out,  but,  if  you  think  it's  boy's  play  to  act  the  part  of 
a  thief  and  skulk  through  alleys  and  back  streets — well, 
I  only  wish  you  might  have  a  chance " 

"Tut,  tut,  Price,  let's  not  become  hysterical.  You 
have  no  need  to  convince  me  of  your  histrionic  abilities, 
since  that  little  check  scene  enacted  right  in  this  room." 

"I  am  not  hysterical,  however,  when  I  insist  that  in 
view  of  the  work  I  have  done  for  you  on  this  job,  your 
little  histrionic  stunt  at  the  conference  the  other  day 
was  a  gross  insult,"  Price  retorted. 

Holdon  stared  at  his  guest  a  moment,  then  blurted 
out:  "Just  drop  that  tone,  my  man.  You  are  not  sure 
enough  of  your  footing  to  get  farther  from  the  ground." 

"I  want  to  stick  to  the  ground,"  Price  insisted.  "Right 


THE   PLOTTERS    MEET  447 

to  the  ground.    And  as  for  my  footing,  leave  that  to  me." 

Glaring  at  each  other,  Holdon  first  found  words  to 
express  his  feelings. 

"You  contemptible  liar,"  he  hissed.  "You  want  to 
keep  your  feet  on  the  ground,  do  you?  Well,  be  careful 
how  you  move,  or  you'll  swing  high  enough  from  the 
ground." 

"Will  I?"  Price  questioned,  his  face  contorted  by  the 
play  of  passions  long  pent  up.  "Will  I?  Well,  it  won't 
be  because  your  virtuous  self  has  any  part  in  the  swing 
ing;  and,  what's  more,  I  tell  you  flat  you  either  come  to 
terms •" 

"Come  to  terms!  Come  to  terms!  You  scum!" 
Holdon  struck  at  the  man  beside  him,  biting  his  lips  and 
puffing  like  a  winded  bull  the  while.  Price  dodged  and 
pulling  his  chair  farther  away,  turned  a  set,  white  face 
to  his  antagonist. 

"You  had  best  keep  your  temper,  Holdon,"  his  voice 
was  low,  "because  I've  something  to  say  to  you  that 
may  try  it  a  bit — a  bit  more,"  'he  corrected. 

Holdon  still  biting  his  lips,  sat  humped  over,  as 
though  prepared  to  spring  at  his  agent. 

"You  have  called  me  a  thief,"  Price  began,  intently 
watching  his  neighbor.  "A  thief,  and  I  want  to  tell  you 
why  I  took  some  twenty  thousand  dollars  of  your  money. 
You  hired  me  to  rob  Harris,  and  I  hadn't  been  in  the 
game  long  until  I  made  up  my  mind  that  you  would 
rob  me  if  you  got  a  chance.  That  being  the  case,  I  pro 
posed  to  put  myself  in  a  position  where  I  could  force 
you  into  a  gentleman's  agreement  to  keep  your  hands  off 
me.  I  have  brought  all  the  plans  for  both  the  Harris 
and  Robinson  machines  with  me  to-night.  I  also  have 
the  Harris  formula  and  the  compound  as  he  made  it 
up.  I  also  have  two  letters  you  wrote  me  from  Kansas 
City — you " 

"You  devil !     Didn't  you  destroy  those  letters  ?" 

It  was  not  a  belligerent  man,  but  a  suppliant  who 
asked  the  question,  and  Price  did  not  misunderstand  in 
the  slightest  degree  what  the  changed  tone  implied, 

"I  should  say  I  did  not  destroy  them,"  he  boasted. 

"And  you  have  them  with  you  ?"  Holdon  asked,  wet 
ting  his  lips  with  his  tongue. 

"Not  me,  they're  in  a  box  behind  a  good  lock." 


44^  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"What  do  you  propose " 

"Yes,  I,  too,  would  like  to  know  just  what  he  pro 
poses." 

Both  men  turned  on  the  instant  and  started  to  leave 
their  chairs  when  the  same  voice,  calm,  cool,  and  des 
perately  deliberate,  said: 

"Gentlemen,  you  will  please  be  seated  again  and  put 
your  hands  on  the  table;  that's  right — now,  the  first 
one  of  you  to  lift  a  hand  will  beat  the  other  one  to  hell 
by  about  three  seconds."  The  speaker  paused. 

Holdon  and  Price,  from  staring  open-mouthed  at  the 
disheveled,  stern-faced  man,  with  a  revolver  in  each 
hand,  looked  at  each  other,  and  each  read  a  plea  in  the 
other's  eyes  for  deliverance,  and  a  promise  of  co-opera 
tion  as  well,  were  it  possible  to  pass  intelligence  under 
those  two  tubes  of  steel. 

"You  two,"  the  intruder  began  slowly,  "will  not  need 
to  agree  as  to  the  division  of  the  spoils.  You  have  rob 
bed  and  been  robbed  for  the  last  time  but  one  on  this 
earth,  and  I  propose  to  finish  the  work." 

Again  the  two  shot  a  furtive  glance  at  each  other. 
Holdon  had  huddled  down  in  his  chair  while  Price  had 
leaned  back  with  only  his  fingers  on  the  table. 

"I  hope  to  God  Price  has  a  gun,"  Holdon  thought, 
as  he  noted  the  position  of  his  companion.  If  Charley 
Harris  noted  Price's  drawing  back  from  the  table,  he 
paid  no  heed. 

"You,  Mr.  Holdon,"  the  revolver  in  his  left  hand 
moved  downward  until  it  pointed  at  Holdon's  third  vest 
button,  "are  a  more  contemptible  hound  than  this  dog 
over  here — straighten  up,  Price — your  only  hope  of  life 
lies  in  keeping  your  hands  on  the  table." 

Price  brought  his  chair  down  with  a  thump  and 
thrust  his  hands  well  out  on  the  table. 

"That's  better,"  the  same  cool  voice  went  on.  "Now, 
Mr.  Holdon,  I  was  saying  I  consider  you  a  more  con 
temptible  hound  than  this  sneak  thief  over  here.  You 
took  me  into  your  foundry  under  a  promise  to  help  me 
perfect  my  machine.  I  laid  my  whole  heart  open  before 
you ;  told  you  just  what  I  wanted  to  do  with  the  money 
my  invention  would  bring  me,  how  I  wanted  to  make 
my  father  and  mother  happy  and  care  free;  all  of  this, 
I  told  you,  and  you  smiled  and  promised  to  help  me. 


IB  first  one  of  you  to  lift  a  hand  will  beat  the  other  one  to  hell  by  about 
three  seconds." — Paj?e  448. 


THE   PLOTTERS    MEET  449 

I  went  to  work  and  within  three  days  you  had  hired  a 
detective  to  worm  his  way  into  my  confidence,  and  when 
his  report  satisfied  you  that  I  really  could  build  a  suc 
cessful  moulding  machine,  you  hired  this  whelp  over 
here  to  rob  me." 

Harris  paused  and  looked  intently  at  Price,  who  had 
moved  back  once  more  until  his  fingers  alone  were  on 
the  table.  He  moved  forward  again  before  Harris 
deigned  to  proceed. 

"But,  Mr.  Holdon,"  he  went  on  with  a  short  laugh, 
"there  was  a  part  of  the  story  he  failed  to  tell  you. 
From  the  first,  Price  decided  to  rob  both  of  us,  and 
very  nearly  overreached  himself.  He  told  me  he  was 
building  a  machine  and  described  mine  so  closely,  thanks 
to  your  detective's  ability  to  pump  a  boy  from  the  coun 
try,  that  I  quit  your  plant,  and  for  months  Price  used 
your  money  and  the  detective,  Martin,  to  hunt  me. 
When  he  found  me,  he  had  a  new  story.  His  machine 
had  proven  a  failure,  and  you  insisted  upon  taking  up 
my  machine.  I  was  to  have  one  hundred  dollars  per 
month  while  building  it,  and  a  half  interest  in  the  patents 
when  it  was  finished." 

Holdon  looked  at  Price,  moistened  his  lips  and  asked : 

"What  do  you  want,  Harris?" 

"I  don't  want  anything  either  of  you  have  to  give." 

"I'll  sign  everything  over  to  you,  Harris,  everything, 
and  give  you  an  agreement  to  buy  the  machine." 

"No  you  won't.  If  you  did,  you'd  hire  another  thief 
to  rob  me  to-morrow." 

Price  had  his  fingers  back  on  the  edge  of  the  table 
again,  and  as  Harris  was  attending  to  what  Holdon 
was  saying,  he  thrust  himself  back  a  little  farther,  and, 
as  their  captor's  vehemence  while  answering  Holdon 
caused  him  to  be  less  watchful,  Price  slipped  his  hands 
from  the  table,  kicked  his  chair  over  and  ducked  to 
the  floor.  Once  under  cover  of  the  table,  it  took  him 
but  a  moment  to  draw  his  revolver.  With  the  disappear 
ance  of  Price,  stillness  fell  upon  the  group.  As  Holdon 
looked  up  into  Harris'  eyes,  he  shuddered.  The  man 
was  mad  and  unless  Price  had  a  gun 

"You  might  as  well  come  out,  Price,"  Harris'  voice 
broke  the  silence,  "I'm  going  to  kill  you,  and  unless  you 
are  praying,  you're  wasting  time,  and  you,  too,  Holdon. 


45°  MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

If  you  have  any  idea  an  honest  God  would  listen  to  a 
dog  like  you,  I'd  advise  you  to  pray." 

"You  don't  intend  to  kill  me,  Harris?"  He's  mad, 
the  magnate  thought,  even  as  he  spoke.  "You  can  handle 
madmen  if  you  humor  them."  At  that  moment,  he  felt  a 
pinch  on  his  leg,  and  a  hoarse  whisper. 

'Tush  back  and  duck  like  I  did;  I've  got  my  gun." 

"No  use,  Price,"  Harris  answered.  "You're  a  fool 
as  well  as  a  knave.  I  could  kill  you — just  as  easily  now 
as  I  could " 

With  an  oath,  Price  pushed  Holdon's  chair  back,  and 
as  the  latter  threw  up  his  hands  to  save  himself  from 
falling  and  thus  drew  Harris'  fire,  Price  got  to  his  feet, 
but  before  he  could  level  his  gun,  Harris  had  pulled  on 
him  with  both  guns.  The  ex-superintendent  pitched  for 
ward  upon  the  table,  his  revolver  discharging  in  the  air, 
then  slid  to  the  floor.  His  revolver  fell  upon  a  heap  of 
papers  upon  the  table.  Holdon  lay  with  his  feet  en 
tangled  among  the  rounds  of  the  chair  he  had  sat  in 
but  a  moment  before.  The  soft  lights  that  had  looked 
down  upon  the  starting  of  so  many  successful  ventures 
by  this  captain  of  industry  lighted  up  a  face  made  re 
pulsive  by  the  hand  of  fear  that  had  written  its  telltale 
markings  over  all  others  his  countenance  had  worn  in 
life. 

Harris  for  a  time  stood  with  the  barrel  of  one  re 
volver  resting  upon  the  table,  the  other  pointed  at  the 
body  of  Price. 

"So  you  are  dead,  are  you,  Price?  And  you,  too, 
over  there  with  your  foot  in  the  air.  Well,  I  said  I 
would;  I  told  God  I'd  do  it  if  He  let  me  live  until  to 
night,  and  it's  over  with." 

A  sigh  of  infinite  sadness  drawn  from  his  tortured 
soul,  escaped.  His  eyes  fell  upon  the  revolver  that  had 
fallen  from  Price's  nerveless  fingers. 

"I  wonder  if  it  is  loaded?  If  it  is,  why  didn't  he 
try  to " 

He  threw  the  barrel  down  and  the  loaded  shells  were 
thrown  out.  While  picking  them  up  mechanically,  his 
mind  began  to  shape  a  way  out  of  the  present  situa 
tion.  When  he  entered  the  suite  that  night  through  the 
secret  passage  Price  had  disclosed  to  him  and  for  which 
he  had  furnished  the  keys — he  had  but  one  thought — 


THE   PLOTTERS   MEET  451 

to  kill  those  two  men,  then  end  his  own  life,  and  let  the 
world  judge  when  it  had  read  the  statement  he  had  writ 
ten  and  placed  in  his  pocket.  As  he  stood  by  the 
table,  he  had  no  thought  of  flight  until  in  picking  up 
Price's  revolver,  he  had  noticed  that  it  was  the  same 
caliber  as  those  he  had  used.  Once  the  possibility  of 
escape  dawned  upon  him,  he  took  up  his  guns  and  in 
feverish  haste  broke  them,  extracted  the  used  shells,  and 
thrusting  them  into  Price's  revolver,  he  threw  it  beside 
the  huddled  form  on  the  floor.  Hastily  gathering  the  pa 
pers  from  the  table,  he  ran  to  the  grate  and  thrust  them 
in,  and  as  they  burned,  he  extracted  from  the  pockets  of 
both  men,  all  the  papers  he  could  discover,  and  fed  the 
flames  with  them,  and  without  a  glance  in  the  direction 
of  the  men  upon  wham  he  had  taken  vengeance,  he 
walked  out  of  the  suite,  out  through  that  unused  office 
in  the  next  building,  down  two  flights  of  stairs  and  was 
lost  in  the  crowds  upon  the  street. 

As  he  went  down  the  first  flight  of  steps,  after  leaving 
the  dark  office,  a  woman,  hearing  him  coming,  crouched 
in  a  dark  corner  on  the  landing  below  and  waited  there 
until  she  was  sure  he  had  reached  the  street. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

OUT  INTO  THE  NIGHT. 

Out  into  the  night,  Charley  Harris  sped  from  the 
scene  of  his  vengeance — a  vengeance  but  half  complete. 
He  had  burned  the  plans  from  which  both  his  and  Rob 
inson's  machines  had  been  built,  but  the  machines  still 
existed,  and  these,  too,  must  be  destroyed  before  his 
work  was  completed. 

As  he  crossed  the  river  on  his  way  to  Robinson's 
shop,  lie  dropped  the  moulding  compound  into  the  river, 
muttering:  "Much  good  any  machine  will  do  them 
without  that,"  and  hurried  on. 

An  hour  later  as  he  crossed  the  north  branch  of  the 
river  and  turned  south  to  catch  a  Madison  street  car 
west,  he  heard  the  clanging  of  fire  gongs  and  halted  as 
the  fire  fighters  lashed  their  horses  along  the  way  he 
had  just  covered. 

"They  won't  save  it,"  he  told  himself.  "They  won't 
save  it — I  fixed  it  too  well  for  that." 

He  jumped  from  the  car  a  few  blocks  below  his 
home  and  hurried  on.  His  only  fear  was  that  Mickey 
might  be  there  waiting  for  him.  "What  would  he  do 
if  the  cripple  was  there?"  The  blood  madness  upon 
him,  he  drew  one  of  his  revolvers,  as  he  opened  the 
door,  and  stealthily  entered.  With  the  revolver  still  in 
hand,  he  went  into  the  room  Mickey  had  occupied,  but 
the  cripple  was  not  there.  With  a  laugh  of  triumph 
he  thrust  the  revolver  into  his  pocket  and  went  to  search 
for  every  scrap  of  drawing  and  bit  of  the  machine  that 
might  be  among  his  effects.  Picking  up  the  first  cast 
ing  from  the  machine  built  in  Holcomb's  barn,  he  kissed 
and  hugged  it. 

''You  are  to  be  broken  into  a  thousand  bits,  my 
beauty,"  he  murmured.  "Yes,  broken  like  they  have 
broken  me,  and  then  the  fire  will  turn  you  a  beautiful 
red  and  you'll  melt,  melt,  melt,  and  drop  into  hell,  a 

452 


OUT   INTO  THE   NIGHT  453 

drop  at  a  time,  and  fasten  upon  the  souls  of  the  men  I 
sent  there  tonight." 

Tenderly  he  wrapped  the  casting  in  its  covering,  and 
gathering  the  bundle  he  had  prepared,  hurried  out  into 
the  night  once  more. 

That  morning  three  fires  were  reported,  two  of  which 
we  can  account  for.  Robinson,  seen  by  a  reporter  for 
an  afternoon  paper,  gave  the  following  statement: 

My  machine  shop  was  burned  by  some  one  who  desired  to 
prevent  the  completion  of  an  automatic  moulding  machine  I 
was  building.  Yes,  I  was  interested  in  the  machine,  but  I 
am  not  at  liberty  at  this  time  to  give  out  the  names  of  the 
other  parties  interested  with  me.  I  know  it  was  deliberately 
burned.  Since  it  has  cooled  off,  I  have  been  investigating 
and  have  found  that  the  machine  I  mentioned  was  first 
broken  up  with  a  heavy  sledge.  Two  men  are  ready  to  swear 
they  heard  some  one  using  a  sledge,  but  as  machine  shops 
often  work  night  shifts  they  thought  nothing  of  it.  Who 
ever  did  it  was  either  a  machinist,  or  knew  enough  to  turn 
on  the  lights  and  start  some  of  the  machinery,  in  order  to 
give  the  appearance  of  regularity  to  his  infamous  work.  No, 
I  have  not  reported  it  to  the  other  parties.  I  rather  expected 
to  hear  from  them  before  this;  anyway,  I  don't  want  to  do 
anything  until  I  see  them;  they  are  prominent  and  will  cer 
tainly  push  the  investigation. 

In  the  ruins  of  the  second  fire  there  might  have  been 
seen  a  pile  of  bent  and  battered  iron  and  brass  lying 
about  midway  of  the  broken  walls.  To  the  casual  ob 
server,  this  pile  of  iron  would  not  stir  the  imagination, 
but  could  this  unmoved  observer  have  looked  upon  the 
same  metal  yesterday  as  it  stood  the  concrete  expression 
of  genius  wedded  to  more  than  living  labor,  the  contrast 
would  have  been  enough  to  stir  the  slowest  blooded  on 
looker. 

The  owner  of  the  building  did  not  learn  of  the  de 
struction  of  his  property  until  notified  by  the  insurance 
agency. 

"I  know  but  little  of  the  man  who  rented  from  me. 
He  was  an  inventor  and  seemed  well-to-do.  I  visited 
the  shop  several  times  to  collect  rent  and  always  found 
him  busy.  He  gave  me  to  understand  that  he  was  be 
ing  backed  by  a  wealthy  man  here  in  the  city.  No,  I 
haven't  seen  him  to-day ;  and  the  only  reason  I  can  ad 
vance  for  his  not  putting  in  an  appearance  is  that  he 
may  have  been  out  of  the  city  last  night  and  has  not 


454  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

yet  returned."  The  owner  and  the  reporter  turned  away 
from  the  smoking  ruins. 

A  little  before  six  o'clock  that  morning  a  man  whose 
hands  and  face  were  smirched  with  oil,  rust,  and  iron 
dust  entered  a  boarding  house  in  a  manufacturing 
suburb  of  the  great  city. 

"Can  I  get  breakfast  and  a  bed?"  he  inquired. 

"Sure  thing;  working  nights?"  the  proprietor  asked, 
interested  in  the  possibilities  of  securing  a  new  boarder. 

"No."  The  man  turned  a  pair  of  heavy  lidded  eyes 
upon  his  questioner. 

"Well,  you  look  as  though  you  worked  last  night," 
the  landlord  observed  casually. 

"Yes,  last  night  I  worked."  The  newcomer  laughed, 
as  he  took  off  his  coat  and  rolled  up  his  sleeves  prepara 
tory  to  washing.  "But  I  don't  do  it  as  a  rule.  There 
was  a  piece  of  work  that  had  to  be  done  last  night  and 
I  was  sent  out." 

"What  plant?" 

The  man  at  the  wash  bowl  looked  up  quickly.  "Oh, 
not  here;  it  was  up  at  Franklin  Park.  When  I  got 
through,  they  told  me  I  could  get  a  car  home  from  here, 
but  when  I  hoofed  it  in  here,  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
rest  up  until  to-night." 

"Oh,  that's  it;  well  I  guess  you  .earned  a  rest  all 
right  if  you  walked  down  from  the  Park,"  the  landlord 
observed  and  gave  his  mind  to  other  things. 

That  evening  shortly  after  supper,  the  man  who  had 
fixed  things  at  the  Park,  handed  the  landlord  a  silver 
dollar  and  with  a  short  good-toy,  left  the  house  and  drop 
ped  out  of  the  world  that  had  known  him  as  a  boy  and 
man. 

When  John  Smith  shook  hands  with  you  yesterday, 
you  did  not  know  that  he  once  answered  to  the  name 
of  Clarence  Jennings,  now  did  you?  When  that  banker 
died  in  Cincinnati  a  few  months  ago  and  it  was  discov 
ered  that  he  had  at  one  time  in  his  adventurous  life 
faced  a  vigilance  committee  in  a  western  state,  and  that 
it  had  taken  three  names  and  fifty  years  to  make  him  a 
pillar  in  the  financial  world,  were  you  much  shocked? 

In  Mammon's  mills  men  change  their  names  to  fit 
their  needs.  And  we  have  come  to  look  upon  such  ex 
posures  as  of  little  moment.  To  say  that  men  change 


OUT  INTO   THE    NIGHT  455 

their  personality,  their  methods  and  their  ambitions 
when  they  change  names,  might  invite  a  heated  argu 
ment;  but  I  shall  insist  that  some  men  have  changed 
all  of  this  when  they  took  a  new  name  and  went  forth 
into  new  environments.  This  I  shall  insist  happened  to 
Charley  Harris,  when  he  quitted  the  boarding  house  on 
the  outskirts  of  Chicago  and  plunged  into  the  darkness 
of  a  night  that  shall  hide  him  from  you  and  all  who  have 
known  him,  until  such  time  as  the  iron  hand  of  fate 
shall  fall  upon  his  shoulder  and  the  voice  of  doom  shall 
say,  "Thou  art  the  man." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

FLY  BOYO'S  SUDDEN  DEPARTURE. 

When  Charley  Harris'  footfalls  ceased  to  sound  in 
the  dark  halls  of  the  building  adjoining  "Shifty" 
Smith's  palace,  the  woman  who  had  crouched  in  the 
darkest  corner  of  the  second  floor  landing  stepped  out 
and  hastily  climbed  the  next  flight.  Making  her  way 
to  the  door  through  which  Holdon's  suite  was  reached, 
she  groped  for  the  button  the  owner  had  had  cunningly 
hidden  in  the  side  of  the  casing  for  the  use  of  such  as 
she.  Time  and  again,  she  pressed  the  button. 

"I  wonder  has  he  forgotten?"  she  whispered,  and 
again  tried  the  button. 

Growing  impatient,  she  tried  the  door  and  finding 
it  yielded  to  her  touch,  entered  the  room  and  went  on  to 
the  door  leading  into  the  Holdon  suite.  This  door  was 
not  locked,  so  boldly  and  with  something  of  resentment 
against  the  man  whom  she  mentally  accused  of  having 
left  those  doors  open  for  her  in  order  that  he  might  not 
be  disturbed,  Fly  Boyd  entered  and  hesitated  but  a 
moment  before  going  to  the  sitting  room.  As  she  paus 
ed  at  the  doorway,  she  sniffed  the  powder  laden  air, 
then  glanced  at  the  grate  in  which  the  last  flickering 
flames  were  issuing  from  a  heap  of  twisted  sheets  of 
paper  ash.  From  where  she  stood,  neither  of  the  bodies 
were  in  sight.  Yet,  into  her  very  bones,  there  crept  the 
chill  of  horror.  Standing  thus  in  the  doorway,  she 
searched  out  the  far  corners  of  the  room  and  question 
ing  the  silence,  the  mystery  of  it  all,  was  about  to  flee, 
when  a  memory  of  the  man  she  had  heard  upon  the 
stairs  returned,  and  gave  her  courage  to  investigate. 
Stepping  into  the  room,  the  floor  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  long  table  came  into  view. 

"My  God,  what  is  this?"  she  cried,  as  staggering  to 
the  table,  she  caught  at  it  for  support,  her  eyes  fastened 

456 


FLY  BOYO'S  SUDDEN  DEPARTURE          457 

upon  the  body  of  Holdon  lying  with  the  soft  light  beat 
ing  into  its  staring  eyes. 

"He  is  dead!  Dead!  Dead!  That  man  murdered 
him,"  she  whispered,  and  began  edging  along  the  table 
to  be  farther  from  the  body,  and  in  doing  so,  her  eyes 
fell  upon  the  huddled  form  of  Price  lying  close  up  to 
the  table. 

The  woman  drew  back  and  clasping  her  hands  to 
her  head  began  to  cry.  For  a  little  while,  she  walked 
back  and  forth  near  the  doorway  through  which  she 
had  entered,  uncertain  what  to  do,  whether  to  go  away 
quietly  and  allow  some  one  else  to  discover  the  tragedy, 
and  thus  escape  notoriety,  or  to  give  the  alarm  to  the 
police.  From  thinking  of  the  notoriety  that  would  come 
to  her,  and  worse,  if  she  should  be  discovered  there,  her 
mind  carried  her  to  the  conversation  she  had  had  with 
Mamie.  Standing  where  she  could  see  both  bodies, 
she  looked  long  at  them,  her  face  hardening,  her  hands 
clinched  at  her  sides. 

"Why  not,  if  he's  dead,  and  through  with  it  all,  I 
might  just  as  well."  She  paused.  "Is  he  dead?"  To 
determine  this,  it  became  necessary  for  her  to  examine 
the  body.  Slowly  edging  her  way  around  the  table, 
she  fell  upon  her  knees  beside  the  body  of  her  lover. 
"Yes,  he's  dead,"  she  whispered.  "Dead,  and  I  am 
a  widow."  Getting  to  her  feet,  she  ran  from  the  suite, 
locking  the  doors  behind  her. 

****** 

"Mamie,  Mamie,  for  God's  sake,  wake  up!" 

Fly  Boyd  stood  over  her  maid's  bed,  shaking  the 
girl  as  though  her  very  life  depended  upon  her  being 
awakened  instantly.  Mamie,  awakened,  sat  bolt  up 
right,  rubbing  her  eyes. 

"Why,  Flo — what  in  the  world — is  the  house  on 
fire?"  she  questioned. 

"No,  but  the  world's  turned  over  since  you  went  to 
sleep,"  the  mistress  began  and  hurried  on:  "Holdon 
has  been  murdered  and  another  man  with  him." 

"Murdered?"  Mamie's  eyes  were  wide.  "Murder 
ed?  Flo,  you  didn't " 

"No,  I  didn't,  you  goose.  But  get  up.  We're  going 
to  pack  up  and  get  away  just  the  same." 

The  girl  looked  questioningly  at  her  mistress  and 


45^  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

noting  the  flushed  face  and  nervous  twitching  lips,  was 
tiut  half  satisfied. 

"You  can  tell  me  the  truth,  Flo,"  she  insisted.  "If 
you  killed  him,  I  know  you  must  have  had  cause." 

At  that,  Fly  sat  on  the  bed  and  gave  the  maid  a 
brief  outline  of  the  evening's  adventure,  concluding: 

"I  don't  know  what  put  it  into  my  head,  but,  from 
thinking  of  what  we  had  talked  over  about  that  Michi 
gan  marriage,  I  got  to  thinking  of  Mickey  and  his  baby ; 
and  the  thought  struck  me  that  Holdon  would  be  as 
good  a  name  for  the  baby  as  any  other,  besides,  I'd  be 
doing  Mickey  a  good  turn  and  have  my  fingers  on  two 
shares  of  the  Holdon  estate." 

Mamie,  standing  at  the  dresser,  turned  to  stare  at 
the  woman  sitting  upon  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Mamie?  You  don't  seem  able 
to  grasp  the  situation." 

"I  don't  grasp  the  part  our  baby's  got  to  play," 
Mamie  protested,  "though  I  do  see  where  you  can  hold 
up  the  Holdon  heirs  for  a  million.  Lord,  Flo,  you  must 
have  been  born  under  a  lucky  star.  Just  tfiink  how 
they'll  come  across." 

"And  the  baby  will  cinch  it.  Why,  Mamie,  can't 
you  see  how  much  stronger  it  makes  my  case?"  The 
girl  shook  her  head.  "Well,  it  does.  See  here — you've 
got  letters  from  me  written  from  different  places  in 
Europe.  I've  got  the  same  pen  and  the  same  ink  I 
wrote  them  with.  You  hunt  them  up  and  I'll  just  drop 
in  a  line  in  each  of  them,  telling  about  the  baby.  Let's 
see,  it's  about  three  months;  that  would  bring  it  about 
right.  Why,  Mamie,  I  can  write  you  how  I  left  babe 
with  the  nurse,  and  went  to — So-and-So's.  There's  dead 
loads  of  people  over  there  who  will  swear  to  anything 
for  a  hundred  dollars.  I  can  tell  you  how  sorry  Mr. 
Holdon  was  that  he  had  to  go  home  without  us.  I 
Scan -" 

"But  you  have  forgotten  Mickey.  What's  he  going 
to  say  to  all  of  this  ?" 

"Yes,  that's  the  one  question;  what  will  Mickey  say? 
Say,  Mamie,  can  you  find  him  at  this  time  of  night?" 
the  mistress  asked. 

"Why,  it's  past  midnight,  but  I  know  where  he  was 


FLY  BOYD'S  SUDDEN  DEPARTURE          459 

going  to  stay  to-night.  Yes,  I  can  get  him  if  I  don't 
get  pinched." 

"When  you  get  pinched,  shove  some  of  this  at  the 
bull.  He'll  forget  his  duty  long  enough  to  take  the  bill 
to  the  light."  Fly  pressed  some  bills  into  the  girl's 
hands  and  with  a  parting  word  to  her  to  hurry,  sat 
down  to  plan  her  work  with  Mickey.  So  absorbing  was 
the  theme  her  mind  played  with  that  she  was  startled 
when  Mamie  and  Mickey  entered  her  room. 

"What's  th'  matter  with  th'  kid?"  the  visitor  de 
manded.  "She,"  pointing  a  thumb  over  his  shoulder 
at  Mamie,  "is  either  walkin'  in  her  sleep  or  somethin', 
she  wouldn't  say  nothin',  only  youse  come  erlong.  Say, 
is  th'  kid  sick?" 

"No,  Mickey,  baby's  asleep.  I — I  sent  for  you  to 
tell  you  I'd  adopt  the  baby/' 

"Gee  whiz !  is  that  so  ?  Say,  youse  kin  git  me  up  in 
th'  middle  of  th'  night  any  old  time." 

"But,  there's  a  condition,  Mickey,  that  you  may  not 
care  to  agree  to." 

Fly,  pale  and  trembling,  hesitated  to  throw  the  last 
card  in  her  hand  into  the  scale.  Mickey  stood  before 
her,  his  every  faculty  awake,  and  noting  the  woman's 
hesitancy,  he  hurriedly  replied. 

"They  ain't  no  conditions  I  won't  agree  to  t'  see 
that  kid  fixed  fer  life." 

"Are  you  sure?"  the  woman  asked. 

"Absolute,"  came  the  answer. 

"Then  you  promise  to  forget  anything  I  ask  you  to 
forget  about  the  baby,  to  remember  anything  I  want  you 
to  remember?" 

"Say,  quit  kiddin'  me.  Ain't  I  told  youse  I'd  do 
anythin'  fer  th'  kid — er  its  mother?"  he  added  softly. 

Fly  scrutinized  him  so  closely  that  he  became  rest 
less. 

"Say,  what  sort  oi  a  lay-out  is  this,  hey?  I  ain't 
used  to  bein'  got  up  in  th'  middle  of  th'  night  jist  fer 
ladies  to  set  an'  make  eyes  at  me."  He  shifted  from 
one  foot  to  the  other. 

"Mickey,  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you  the  story  so 
you  will  understand  it,  and  unless  you  do  and  will  agree 
to  help  me,  why,  I  can't  adopt  the  baby." 

"Well,  fer  God's  sake;  what's  the  use  ov  me  sayin' 


460  MILLS    OF    MAMMON 

it  agin?    Ain't  I  sed  fire  away;  I'm  yours  truly?" 

"Yes,  I  know,  but  there  are  so  many — "  she  paused. 
"Say,  Mickey,  you  know  the  baby's  got  to  have  a  name." 
As  he  nodded,  she  went  on  hurriedly:  "There's  only 
one  name  I  could  give  her,  and  that's  Holdon." 

The  cripple  jumped  as  though  shot. 

"Who  ever  put  youse  next,"  he  quavered. 

"No  one  put  me  next  to  anything,  only  if  I  adopt 
her,  she's  to  be  called  Estella  Marie  Holdon." 

Mickey  sat  down  limp  as  a  rag.     Finally  he  looked 

U?V 

"Fly  Boyd,  are  you  th'  devil,  or  am  I  dreamin'?"  he 

demanded  soberly. 

"Neither,  Mickey ;  we  were  discussing  a  pretty  name 
for  our  baby." 

"An'  youse  don't  know  nothin'  'bout  th'  kid  'ceptin' 
what  I  told  youse?" 

"No;  how  could  I?"  'she  questioned,  puzzled  at  the 
change  which  had  come  over  her  visitor. 

"An'  youse,  with  nobody  tellin'  youse  nuthin'  'bout 
th'  kid  'cept  wha/t  I  tells,  wants  t'  call  it  Steller  Holdon  ?" 
His  eyes  big  with  wonder  at  it  all,  he  stood  clasping  and 
unclasping  his  ,hands. 

"Yes,  Estella  Marie  Holdon." 

"Then  they  is  a  God!"  he  exclaimed.  "They  is  a 
God,  an'  I  won't " 

"What  in  the  world  has  my  naming  the  baby  got  to 
do  with  God?" 

"Heaps !  heaps !"  he  answered.  "Jist  go  ahead  an* 
call  her  that  an'  I'll  swear  it's  her  name,  an'  I  ought 
t'  know,  I  ought  t'  know !"  His  voice  sank  to  a  whis 
per  as  he  put  a  hand  on  Fly's  arm  and  nodded  his  ap 
proval. 

The  woman  before  him,  relieved  of  her  fear,  plung 
ed  into  the  story  of  what  she  had  seen  in  Holdon's 
suite.  Only  once  was  she  interrupted. 

"I  knows  who  let  th'  daylight  into  them  devils, 
an'  I  seen  youse  go  up  them  stairs  an'  shadowed  th' 
joint  till  th'  man  as  done  fer  them  come  down — but  I 
lost  him,"  oame  from  Mickey,  but  that  was  all,  and 
the  woman  could  not  induce  him  to  say  another  word. 

It  was  four  o'clock  when  Mickey  left  the  house  with 
instructions  to  secure  a  ticket  for  New  York  and  take  the 


FLY  BOYD'S  SUDDEN  DEPARTURE          461 

first  train.  He  had  agreed  readily  enough  when  Fly 
laid  her  plans  before  him.  Mamie  was  to  go  to  a  woman 
whom  Fly  had  befriended  many  times  and  giving  the 
baby  into  her  care  send  them  to  New  York  by  a  round 
about  way,  that  morning,  if  possible.  In  the  afternoon, 
Fly  was  to  start  for  the  same  city.  Arrived  there, 
they  were  to  take  up  quarters  in  a  good  hotel  and 
await  news  from  Chicago. 

Mickey  turned  at  the  door.  "I  don't  know  as  I  kin 
go,"  he  began  in  a  hesitating  voice.  "Youse  see,  if  th' 
man  I  thinks  done  fer  them  skunks  last  night,  I  ought 
t'  stay  an'  try  t'  help  him — >he  don't  know  no  more'n  a 
rabbit  'bout  th'  mertropolis,  an'  is  jist  as  like  as  anything 
t'  run  right  into  a  bull  th'  first  thing.  I  guess " 

"But  the  baby,  Mickey?  We  must  get  this  business 
fixed." 

"Yep,  I  guess  youse  is  right,  an'  after  this  here  night, 
Fly  Boyd,"  he  paused  with  lifted  hand,  "I  ain't  never 
goin'  t'  say  a  word  against  God ;  I  had  some  doubts  which 
was  nacheral,  seein'  as  how  I  bin  bumped,  but  I'm  all 
right  now." 

When  he  was  gone  and  Mamie  had  started  on  her 
mission,  Fly  Boyd  sat  down  to  ponder  over  the  [conduct 
of  Mickey. 

"I  wonder  will  I  ever  learn  what  it  is  behind  -this 
baby's  coming  into  the  world  that  he  guards  so  closely? 
What  did  he  mean  anyway?"  she  asked,  then  gave  her 
mind  to  the  part  she  had  set  herself  to  play. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  HUE  AND  CRY. 

Holdon  never  permitted  the  keys  to  his  suite  above 
"Shifty"  Smith's  palace  to  remain  in  the  hands  of  a 
janitor  or  care-taker.  When  he  was  in  town,  the  woman 
who  took  care  of  the  suite  was  summoned  by  phone  and 
the  owner  remained  in  the  apartments  until  they  were 
in  order,  or  if  it  was  inconvenient  for  him  to  be  present, 
his  agent,  Price,  had  to  oversee  the  work.  Price  was 
well  content  with  this  arrangement,  as  it  gave  him  un 
disturbed  possession  of  the  suite  whenever  Holdon  was 
out  of  the  city. 

When  Price  had  finally  secured  possession  of  Harris, 
he  had  planned  to  have  the  latter  do  all  his  drafting  in 
this  suite  in  order  that  he  might  have  access  to  the  work 
when  Harris  was  at  the  shop.  With  this  in  view,  he 
had  shown  Harris  the  secret  entrance  and  supplied  him 
with  keys.  Later,  when  Harris  insisted  that  he  could 
work  on  his  drawings  to  better  advantage  in  the  quiet 
of  his  own  rooms,  or  at  the  shop,  Price  had  not  asked 
that  he  return  the  keys,  either  because  he  feared  to  anger 
the  mechanic  or  because  he  was  too  much  occupied  with 
his  schemes  to  give  thought  to  so  small  an  item. 

The  third  day  of  her  father's  absence  came  and  with 
it  brought  a  great  fear  to  Beatrice  and  her  aunt.  Never 
before  had  the  father  left  the  city  without  telling  the 
family  when  and  where  he  was  going. 

'Til  call  up  Mr.  Price.  He  will  know.  I'm  sorry  I 
did  not  do  it  yesterday." 

"Or  the  night  before,  when  your  father  did  not  come 
home,"  the  aunt  added. 

Central  reported  that  Mr.  Price  could  not  be  gotten 
on  the  wire  and  was  asked  to  ring  again.  Finally  the 
girl  gave  up. 

"Aunt,  you  don't  suppose  they  have  got  track  of  Joel 
and  were  so  excited  they  forgot  to  tell  us  when  they 
left?" 

462 


THE  HUE  AND  CRY  463 

"Oh,  dear,  don't  ask  me  what  a  man  does  or  why  he 
does  it.  When  you  are  as  old  as  I  you  will  have  learned 
that  it  isn't  the  women  who  will,  and  do  as  they  will, 
and  that's  the  end  of  it — it's  these  men." 

"But  that  doesn't  help  me  now,  really,"  the  girl  pro 
tested.  "I  am  anxious — oh,  I  know  what  I'll  do — I'll 
call  up  Martin." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Martin.  What  is  that?  Not  for  three 
days?  Price — yes,  this  is  Miss  Holdon.  Wait  a  min 
ute.  What  plans  did  father  discuss  with  me?  The  last 
things  he  said?  That  he  would  go  to  the  Art  Institute 
with  me  yesterday  afternoon.  Not  a  word  about  leaving 
town?  No,  nothing  about  Joel.  He  would  have  told 
me." 

The  detective  hung  up  the  receiver  and  scowled  at 
his  reflection  in  the  mirror.  "Not  like  Holdon  at  all," 
he  informed  the  reflection.  "Now,  I  wonder  if  he's  got 
somebody  else  on  the  trail  of  that  good-for-nothing 
scamp,  and  they've  put  up  a  strong  con  talk  and  carried 
him  off  on  a  wild  goose  chase.  Well,"  he  concluded, 
"I'm  under  instructions  from  the  house  to  hunt  him  up, 
so  here  goes." 

Price's  rooms  were  visited.  The  janitor  and  care 
taker  both  insisted  that  the  lodger  had  not  been  home 
for  three  days.  Had  he  left  the  city?  Would  they  open 
his  apartments?  There  was  fear  of  foul  play.  This 
suggestion  added  solely  for  effect.  The  apartments  were 
opened  and  proved  beyond  a  doubt  that  the  lodger  had 
not  purposed  going  out  of  the  city  when  he  left  them. 

Next  Martin  visited  Holdon's  attorneys.  Fanchett, 
the  senior  member  of  the  firm,  was  all  attention  in  an 
instant. 

"Did  you  see  the  report  of  the  fire  on  the  North 
Side?"  he  asked,  hastily  taking  down  a  file  of  papers. 

"No,  what  fire  ?"  the  detective  inquired ;  then  added. 
"I  don't  get  the  connection." 

"Then  read  that.  Of  course,  it  is  understood  that 
what  I  tell  you  is  confidential,  and  when  you  have  found 
Holdon  my  name  is  not  to  be  used." 

"Why,  that  goes  without  saying,"  Martin  replied, 
promptly.  "You  are  his  attorney,  I  am  his  detective,  and 
if  the  truth  was  out,  I  suspect  we  would  both  discover 


464  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

that  some  things  we  each  think  is  known  to  no  one  else, 
is  known  as  well  by  the  other." 

The  lawyer  smiled  and  handed  over  the  paper.  Mar 
tin  read  the  interview  Robinson  had  given. 

"Say,  this  doesn't  look  good,"  he  announced. 

"Why?"  Fanchett  asked. 

"Because  I  know  a  story,  but  this  is  no  time  to  teli 
it.  The  thing  I've  got  to  do  is  to  find  Holdon." 

"Have  you  inquired  at  the  Eagle?" 

"Yes,  but  there's  one  place  I  have  not  visited/' 

"On  Monroe  street?" 

The  detective  nodded. 

"Then  it's  the  next  place  to  visit,"  Fanchett  advised, 
and  added:  "I  will  call  up  a  couple  of  men  who  weit 
with  him  that  afternoon.  Oh,  by  the  way,  do  you  know 
a  certain  woman  on  Michigan  avenue?" 

"Yes,  I  know  her — but  she's  not  in  town." 

"Well,  if  there  isn't  anything  doing  on  Monrot 
street,  go  to  her  place,  it's  your  next  best  lead." 

A  look  of  comprehension  passed,  and  Martin  said 
at  parting:  "If  it  isn't  asking  too  much,  would  you 
mind  staying  here  where  I  can  get  you  on  the  wire,  say 
for  an  hour?" 

A  half  hour  lated  Fanchett  was  called  to  the  phone. 
An  agitated  voice  at  the  other  end  said: 

"Go  down  to  the  Eagle — go  as  fast  as  you  can.  I'm 
at  'Shifty'  Smith's — I've  got  to  see  you,  and  for  God's 
sake  hurry." 

Fanchett  ran  out  of  the  office,  hailed  a  cab  and  hur 
ried  to  the  Eagle  club. 

What  did  that  urgent  message  mean?  Was  it  death 
he  heard  in  the  detective's  strained  voice?  That  wom 
an.  How  often  he  had  pleaded  with  his  client  to  quit 
her,  even  if  it  cost  him  half  his  fortune  to  do  it  quietly 

Martin  met  him  at  the  entrance  and  without  a  wora. 
hurried  him  upstairs. 

"Well,"  the  lawyer  sat  down. 

"Hell,"  the  detective  fairly  threw  the  word  from 
him. 

"Out  with  it." 

"Then  it's  murder  and  suicide." 

"Not  the  woman !" 

"No,  no  woman ;  Price  killed  him." 


THE   HUE   AND   CRY  465 

"My  God,  man,  not  Price,  his  agent?" 

"Yes,  Price.  Mr.  Fanchett,  I  stayed  there  long 
enough  to  make  up  my  mind — God,  I  shall  never  forget 
it.  They  have  been  there  dead  in  that  warm  room  three 
days  at  least." 

The  lawyer  got  up.  "Martin,  you  say  Price  killed 
him;  you  infer  that  he  then  took  his  own  life?" 

"I  would  swear  to  it ;  the  doors  were  locked ;  the  two 
had  been  discussing  the  machine ;  I  found  evidence  of 
that,  the  one  Robinson  says  was  broken  up  before  his 
shop  was  fired." 

"But,  Martin,  we  must  act  now,  at  once.  But  how? 
How?  Let  me  think." 

"That's  what  I  wanted  you  for.  I  locked  the  doors 
and  left  things  just  as  I  found  them."  He  shuddered. 

"You  were  right,  Martin.  Now,  you  will  go  and 
tell  the  chief,  then  phone  to  Black's.  Ask  the  chief  to 
send  two  good  men  with  you  and  tell  him  we — mention 
our  firm,  Martin — tell  him  we  don't  want  the  papers  to 
get  at  this  until  we  have  had  time  to  prepare  a  state 
ment.  Tell  Black's  to  send  a  trusted  man  to  our  office 
at  once ;  make  it  strong,  Martin.  Then  you  and  the  two 
men  go  in  at  the  back  and  T  will  phone  you  when  we 
will  arrive.  I — I  must  see  this  thing,  though  God  knows 
I  would  rather  see  anything  else  in  the  world.  But  I  must 
see  it.  I  can't  believe  Price  killed  him.  He  was  too 
much  of  a  coward.  We  need  to  go  slow,  Martin;  God 
alone  knows  what  complications  may  arise  out  of  this — 
this — double  murder." 

Two  hours  later  Fanchett's  office  was  besieged  by  a 
dozen  hungry  newspaper  men.  Fanchett  had  assured  the 
first  to  scent  out  the  tragedy,  that  a  statement  would  be 
given  the  press  at  3  130  p.  m.,  and  with  this  the  repre 
sentatives  of  the  near-decent  papers  had  to  be  satisfied. 
Those  who  represented  the  unscrupulous,  scare-head 
hunters  had  rushed  into  print  with  half  pages  given  to 
blood  curdling  stories,  alleging  for  cause  the  full  gamut 
of  crime,  from  gaming  to  women. 

Inside,  Martin,  the  chief  of  police  and  the  three  mem 
bers  of  the  firm  had  been  struggling  to  get  a  statement 
in  shape  for  the  press.  Fanchett  alone,  of  those  who  had 
examined  the  bodies  and  their  immediate  surroundings, 
held  out  against  accepting  the  murder  and  suicide 


466  MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

theory.     The  time  was  almost     up,  nothing     had  been 
settled.    A  clerk  tip-toed  into  the  room. 

"Judge  Terwill  wants  a  word  with  you  gentlemen; 
he  says  he  can  give  you  some  light." 

"Tell  him  to  come  in,"  Fanchett  ordered,  and  added : 
"We've  got  to  let  that  pack  in  pretty  soon." 

The  judge,  haggard  and  depressed,  told  the  story  of 
the  meeting  at  which  Holdon  had  publicly  insulted  his 
agent,  and  stated  further  that  a  porter  at  the  Eagle  had 
heard  Holdon  tell  Price  over  the  phone  that  he  expected 
him,  Price,  to  meet  him  at  his  apartments  and  settle  up 
something  or  other.  When  the  judge  had  finished,  Fan 
chett  surrendered,  and  the  other  members  of  the  firm 
voted  that  he  should  make  the  statement  for  the  press. 

Martin  left  the  office  after  the  last  reporter  had  been 
satisfied,  himself  dissatisfied  with  the  evidence  he  had 
but  a  short  while  ago  accepted  as  final. 

****** 

In  the  palatial  home  of  the  Holdon  family  there  was 
greater  grief  locked  in  the  heart  of  one  woman  that 
night  than  she  had  ever  thought  it  possible  to  bear. 

"Oh,  aunt,"  she  sobbed,  "only  to  think  that  he  was 
murdered  in  a  quarrel  over  money — over  money,  when 
we  had  so  much  of  it." 

"Much  or  little,  it's  all  the  same,"  Aunt  Nell  replied, 
philosophically.  "Men  and  women  never  get  enough  so 
that  they  won't  quarrel  over  the  next  dollar  they  see." 

"But  think — think  of  him  lying  there  three  days, 
and  we  did  not  think  enough  of  him " 

"Beatrice,  why  should  you  say  that?  You  know  we 
worried  from  the  first,  but  we  thought  some  business  had 
called  him  away;  be  just  to  yourself.  You  will  need  to 
be  strong  and  you  are  not  going  to  help  matters  by  ex 
aggerating  either  side,  his  or  yours." 

"I  know,  I  know,  auntie,  but  what  am  I  to  do?  They 
are  not  going  to  bring  father  home  until  to-morrow  and 
I  cannot  live  through  this  night.  I  cannot, — I  can 
not!" 

"There,  there,  dear,  cry,  cry  hard.  Do  anything,  but 
try  to  think.  If  you  could  have  your  Socialist  stoic  with 
you  now,  he  might  help  you." 

This  last  was  thrown  out  by  Aunt  Nell  in  the  hope 
that  Beatrice  would  resent  it,  and  great  was  that  lady's 


THE    HUE   AND   CRY  467 

astonishment  when  the  girl  threw  her  arms  about  her 
neck  and  cried: 

"I  do  want  him — I  do,  I  do.  Won't  you  send  for 
him ;  tell  him  I  am  in  trouble." 

"Beatrice!"  the  aunt  exclaimed  in  horror.  "What 
would  your  friends  thing  of  such  a  thing,  of  all " 

"I  don't  care;  I  want  to  talk  to  him  if  only  for  a 
minute." 

"I  won't " 

"But,  you  suggested  it,"  the  girl  protested;  "and  if 
you  don't  send  for  him,  I'll  go " 

"Gracious  heavens,  child,  have  you — there,  there,  I'll 
send  Honore  over." 

"Send  Honore  up  to  my  room.  I'm  going  up  now." 
The  girl  tottered  from  the  room  and  left  a  much  per 
plexed  aunt  staring  after  her. 

When  Bulman  received  the  note  Beatrice  had  given 
Honore  for  him,  he  was  sitting  on  his  doorstep  reading  a 
third  edition,  alleging  additional  and  startling  informa 
tion  relative  to  the  "Holdon  Murder,"  this  additional  in 
formation  consisted  of  an  interview  from  Mr.  Abner 
of  the  Holdon  Company,  relating  his  suspicions  as  to  the 
cause  of  the  murder. 

"Hurry  right  back,  Miss,  and  tell  Miss  Holdon  I  will 
be  over  as  soon  as  I  can  change  clothes  :  I've  been  tinker 
ing  around  home,  you  know." 

And  over  he  went  to  be  ushered  into  the  great  library 
by  as  sour  a  visaged  body  as  ever  attempted  to  divide 
her  face  between  two  expressions.  Beatrice  got  to  her 
feet  as  John  was  ushered  in,  the  aunt  following. 

"Mr.  Bulman,  this  is  kind,"  she  began,  and  that  in 
stant  found  both  her  trembling  hands  clasped  in  the 
hands  of  a  wholesome  man  whose  very  person  radiated 
sympathy. 

"Don't  say  a  word,  Miss  Holdon,  not  a  word!  How 
many  times  have  you  gone  to  Robert  and  others  with 
your  sweet  presence  and  cheered  them  when  they 
thought  there  was  nothing  left  to  life  but  death  and 
ashes?" 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad  you  came.  I  was  so  afraid  you 
would  not."  She  looked  past  the  man  and  seeing  the 
look  of  disgust  on  her  aunt's  face,  said  to  that  lady: 
"Auntie,  I  want  to  talk  to  Mr.  Bulman  alone." 


468  MILLS   OF    MAMM0N 

Aunt  Nell  bowed,  and  with  one  swift  glance  at  the 
man,  hurried  from  the  room. 

"You  have — you  know  that  my  father  was  killed  in 
a  quarrel  over  money."  The  girl  sank  back  into  a  chair, 
and  John,  pulling  another  up  facing  her,  answered: 

"I  know  your  father  was  murdered,  but,  Miss  Hoi- 
don,  you  must  not  allow  your  mind  to  dwell  upon  the 
causes  any  one  may  assign  as  a  reason  for  his  death  at 
the  hands  of  another  man.  You  and  I  know  he  is  dead. 
And  you  know  he  was  a  good  father.  But,  out  in  the 
world  there  are  a  hundred  men  who  will  make  money, 
or  hope  to,  by  giving  some  sort  of  story  to  the  press. 
Then  there  are  others  who  may  attempt  to  get  money 
through  attacking  his  honor " 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so?  Do  you  think  they  will? 
Isn't  this — this  enough?"  she  protested. 

"Yes,  more  than  enough,  little  woman,  but  it  is  apt  to 
be  just  as  I  have  stated,  and  I  am  telling  you  this  now, 
at  this  hour,  in  order  that  your  pride  may  arm  you 
against  a  weakness  that  might  be  fatal." 

"Yes,  and  then?" 

"And  then,"  he  replied,  measuring  his  words,  "your 
father's  memory,  your  memory  of  him,  the  things  the 
world  is  to  believe  of  him,  will  depend  upon  your  brav 
ery,  your  ability  to  meet  every  issue  fairly,  and  fight  for 
your  father's  good  name  against  those  who  are  to-day 
making  bread  and  butter  out  of  the  senseless  lies  they 
mix  with  a  bit  of  probability  and  feed  a  morbid  public 
through  the  columns  of  a  filthy  press." 

"And  you  think  I  shall  have  to  fight  for  my  father's 
good  name?"  There  was  nothing  of  tears,  rather  re 
sentment  in  her  voice  as  she  went  on.  "Mr.  Bulman,  I 
know  you  did  not  like " 

"No,  no,  Miss  Holdon,"  he  protested,  earnestly, 
"don't,  I  pray  you,  don't  think  I  carry  my  warfare  be 
yond  the  fair  limits  of  an  honest  fight  in  the  open.  What 
I  am  telling  you  is  not  necessarily  based  upon  anything  I 
know  or  even  suspect,  but  rather  on  the  experience  of 
the  families  of  other  rich  men  who  have  died  without 
having  had  time  to  gather  up  the  loose  ends  of  their 
many  interests.  You  may,  and  I  hope  to  God  you  will, 
escape  all  of  this,  but  if  you  value  your  father's  honor 
above  the  money,  the  property  he  had,  and  I  know  you 


THE    HUE   AND    CRY  469 

do,  then  this  is  not  a  time  for  weeping;  rather  it  is  a 
time  for  gathering  all  of  your  reserve  force  to  meet  and 
master  the  problem  this  tragedy  has  brought  into  your 
life." 

"I — I  am  glad  and  sorry  you  have  told  me  this ;  isn't 
it  enough  for  one  day  to  learn  this  awful  thing?"  she 
asked  with  a  pathetic  quiver  in  her  voice,  as  she  looked 
into  the  worker's  face. 

"More  than  enough,  more  than  enough,  but,  little 
woman,  the  whole  load  is  really  lighter  than  any  part  of 
it,  and  may  be  carried  more  easily  to-day  than  to-mor 
row;  for  if  you  give  way  to-day  to  the  grief  common 
to  all  of  us  when  death  comes  to  ore  we  love,  and  to-mor 
row  some  one  attempts  to  put  upon  you  another  burden, 
you  will  find  that  you  are  already  spent,  that  you  cannot 
meet  and  conquer  these  things  one  at  a  time,  as  they 
spring  upon  you  out  of  the  dark.  I  cannot  bring  com 
fort  to  your  sore  heart,  no  one  may  do  that,  and  the 
things  most  people  will  say  to  comfort,  you  you  will  find 
unbearable,  weakening,  enervating.  The  thing  I  want 
to  do  for  you  is  to  make  your  pride  arm  you  against 
every  outside  influence,  make  you  true  to  yourself,  your 
splendid  womanhood,  your  clean  heart,  your  best  thought 
of  your  father.  If  I  can  do  this,  you  will  not  cry  'What 
shall  I  do,  what  can  I  do?';  you  will  look  life  and  "its 
added  responsibilities  square  between  the  eyes  and  fight 
for "  he  hesitated. 

"For  my  father's  honor,"  she  answered  for  him,  and 
added :  "You  have  accomplished  one  thing  I  did  not  be 
lieve  possible  of  accomplishment.  You  have  driven 
weakness  from  me ;  yes,  and  armed  me."  She  sat  silent 
a  moment  watching  him,  then  asked:  "Do  you  believe 
my  father  was  dishonorable?" 

Bulman  met  both  her  question  and  her  narrowing 
eyes  fairly  as  he  replied: 

"What  I  may  have  believed  of  your  father  has  been 
swallowed  up  in  the  respect  I  have  for  his  daughter, 
and  as  your  friend  I  have  forgotten  anything  and  every 
thing  I  ever  knew  or  thought  or  heard  about  him.  The 
only  thing  I  know  to-day  in  this  relation  is  that  prac 
tically  every  rich  man  has  hundreds  of  secret  enemies, 
that  there  are  besides  as  many  more  professional  black 
mailers  and  parasites  who  are  ready,  for  the  sake  of 


47O  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

profit,  to  suck  honor  out  of  a  dead  saint  even  though  to 
do  it  they  are  forced  to  paint  their  own  souls  as  black  as 
the  unlighted  depths  of  hell.  I  know,  too,  that  few  men 
of  great  wealth  die  without  members  of  their  own  fam 
ilies  being  found  who  gladly  give  aid  and  comfort  to  the 
hell's  pack  who  are  turned  loose  to  rend  and  tear  the 
mantle  of  honor  the  dead  has  left  to  the  care  of  the 
living.  I  know  this,  Miss  Holdon,  and  while  I  hope  you 
may  be  spared,  as  a  friend  who  has  something  of  more 
worth  to  offer  than  tears  and  the  maudlin  miscalled 
sympathy  of  the  friends  one  tries  to  shun  in  such  hours 
as  these,  I  come  to  you  and  ask  you  to  justify  my  high 
est  opinion  of  your  womanhood,  your  courage,  by  being 
brave.  And  to  be  brave  is  to  let  your  soul  weep  for  your 
love  while  your  heart  stands  at  the  door  to  your  home 
armed  against  a  hungry,  wolfishly  hungry,  world  of 
self-seekers." 

When  he  had  finished,  Beatrice  sat  silently  regarding 
the  flickering  play  of  the  gas  flames  in  the  grate.  So 
long  she  sat  thus  dry-eyed,  with  a  hand  upon  either  arm 
of  her  chair,  that  Bulman  arose.  Thinking  he  had  of 
fended  beyond  pardon,  he  was  cudgeling  his  brain  for 
some  word  to  say  before  leaving,  when  she  turned  her 
face,  resolute,  calm  and  purposeful,  to  him. 

"I  did  you  grievous  wrong,"  she  began,  motioning 
him  to  his  seat,  but  he  shook  his  head  and  stood  cap  in 
hand.  "A  grievous  wrong,"  she  repeated,  "and  if  I  can, 
I  want  to  atone  for  it ;  I  have  been  thinking,  and  in  the 
few  minutes  I  have  sat  here,  a  host  of  men  and  women 
have  gone  in  and  out  my  mind.  They  each  have  had  a 
story.  I  never  realized  what  each  one  of  these  stories 
must  have  meant  to  the  woman  who  sat  as  I  sit  to-day, 
with  death  in  her  heart.  I  never  thought  how  these 
stories  of  crime,  of  secret  marriage,  of  other  lines  of 
social  sin,  of  business  dishonor  must  have  wrung  the 
hearts  of  those  who  loved.  I  know  now.  I  know  and  I 
shall  do  my  best  to  be  worthy  the  confidence  you  place 
in  me." 

"Mr.  Fanchett,  Miss  Holdon,"  a  muffled  voice  at  the 
doorway  repeated  the  announcement,  and  John,  taking 
the  girl's  hand  in  his,  said: 

"I  know  you  will  be  brave,  and  you  know  I  will  do 
anything  in  my  power  to  aid  you." 


THE   HUE  AND   CRY  471 

The  lawyer  came  through  the  doorway  as  John  left 
the  room. 

"Miss  Holdon,"  he  began,  "I  am  glad  that  I  am  not 
the  bearer  of  our  sad  news." 

She  wtlcomed  him,  and  inviting  him  to  be  seated, 
awaited  his  message. 

"I  would  not  have  come  to  you  thjs  evening,  but, 
well,  after  office  hours  Mr.  Sample — Mr.  Sample  is  a 
very  estimable  gentleman,  and  a  member  of  a  reputable 
firm  of  attorneys.  As  I  said — "  he  looked  at  the  girl  and 
noted  a  heightened  color,  and  a  strange  brightness  in  her 
eyes — "as  I  said,  Miss  Holdon,  Mr.  Sample  came  to  me 
— he  had  just  received  a  telegram  from  New  York  ask 
ing  him,  no,  instructing  him,  to  take  charge  of  a  very — 
ahem — a  very  important  case  against  the  estate,  and  he 
asked  me  for  a  plain,  straightforward  answer.  Would 
we  listen  to  his  client  with  a  view  to  a — a  settlement  out 
of  court,  or  would  we  fight?"  Fanchett  pulled  a  hand 
kerchief  from  his  pocket,  but  forgot  tfie  purpose  for 
which  he  had  extracted  it,  when  Beatrice  asked: 

"And  what  is  this  case?" 

"Well,  well,  now  Miss  Holdon,  I  only  came  to  you  as 
a  matter  of  form.  You  see,  I  told  him  I'd  have  to  see 
you  before  I  gave  him  a  final  answer,  and,  anyway,  I 
wanted  time  to  telegraph  to  Battle  Creek  and  get  a  re 
ply,  all  of  which  I  did,  and  as  I  said,  I  came  to  you  a«  a 
matter  of  form.  In  fact,  I  came  so  that,  however  thrs 
case  may  go,  we  could  say  we  consulted  our  client,  for 
you  are  now  our  client,  you  know." 

Still  holding  the  handkerchief,  Fanchett  remembered 
his  purpose  and  blew  vigorously. 

"Yes,  to  have  everything  ship-shape.  I  told  him  I 
would  have  to  see  you.  He  grumbled  a  lot,  said  the  pa 
pers  would  give  a  lot  for  the  release  of  the  story " 

"What  story?"  the  girl  demanded,  and  as  she  asked 
the  words  of  Bulman:  "A  hundred  secret  enemies  and 
as  many  blackmailers  and  parasites,"  flashed  before 
her. 

"Why,  the  story  tha£  your  father ;  now  my  dear 
young  lady  don't  faint,  or — or " 

"For  heaven's  sake,  tell  me!  Do  you  think  I  am 
made  of  iron?" 


MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

"Well,  well,  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  coming  as  it  has 
immediately " 

Beatrice  was  on  her  feet  and  one  of  them  was  stamp 
ing,  even  before  his  lips  formed  the  words : 

"Tell  me  and  have  done." 

Fanchctt  squared  his  shoulders,  shot  a  look,  not  un 
mixed  with  wonder,  from  underneath  his  bushy  brows. 

"Well,  the  story  is  this:  Your  father  was  married 
to  a  Miss  Wieboldt  in  Battle  Creek,  Mich.,  a  little  over 
a  year  ago,  and  his  wife  is  now  in  New  York  with  her 
baby.  That's  the  story,  and  while  I  will  admit  the  case 
against  the  estate  looks  strong " 

"What  do  they,  she  and  the  lawyers  want?" 

There  was  another  look  shot  at  the  girl,  this  time  of 
growing  wonder  and  appreciation. 

"They  want  us  to  agree  to  meet  for  conference. 
Otherwise  they  will  give  the  story  to  the  papers  and  at 
tempt  to  make  their  case  in  the  courts/' 

"And  your  advice  is "  she  paused. 

"Why,  my  advice  is  to  fight.  Of  course,  they  would 
put  their  strongest  cards  in  the  hand  they  snowed  us  to 
day,  but  things  are  not  always  just  as  good  as  they  look. 
Besides,  a  conference  means  that  we  recognize  that  they 
may  have — have — well,  have  a  fighting  chance.  And  as 
senior  counsel  of  our  firm,  after  conference  with  the 
other  members,  I  came  to  lay  the  case  before  you,  in  the 
absence  of  your  brother,  and  strongly  urge  that  you  sanc 
tion  our  going  ahead  with  a  searching  investigation,  and 
as  good  a  defense  as  we  can  put  up.  Of  course,  it  is 
probable  she  will  get " 

"What  is  due  her,"  Beatrice  answered  for  him.  "And 
you  will  tell  her  attorney  that  the  day  after  the  funeral, 

if  she  will  attend "  Yes,  there  was  a  dry  little  sob, 

but  she  went  on.  "Tell  her  attorney  I  shall  not  set  the 
time  of  the  funeral  until  I  hear  from " 

"But,  my  dear  girl,  this  is  madness.  Why,  we  have 
put  Martin  and  another  man  on  the  case;  surely  you 
don't  mean " 

"I  menn  to  defend  my  father's  honor  if  it  takes  the 
whole  of  his  property,  and  then " 

"But,  I  must  protest.  If  all  these  unmarried  widows 
of  rich  men — no  offense  Miss  Holdon — if  all  of  them,  a 
tenth  part  of  them,  got  their  dues " 


THE   HUE  AND  CRY  473 

He  was  interrupted.  Beatrice  had  walked  the  length 
of  the  room  and  as  she  turned  back,  said : 

"You  will  please  recall  your  detectives  and  give  this 
woman's  attorney  the  assurance  he  asks.  If  she  is  not 
iny  father's  wife,  we  can  prove  her  falsity  without  hav 
ing  another  full  page  in  every  newspaper  in  the  country. 
If  she  is  my -father's  wife,  she  shall  have  her  rightful 
place  here." 

"But— I  protest." 

"And  I  insist.  You  will  either  carry  out  my  wishes 
in  this  matter  to  the  letter  or  you  may  prepare  to  turn 
my  father's  interests  over  to " 

Fanchett  did  not  wait  for  her  to  finish. 

"Your  wishes  are  law,  Miss  Holdon,  law,  as  binding 
upon  me  as  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians  were 
upon  the  subjects  of  that  kingdom,  but  I  trust  they  may 
not  be  as  unchangeable." 

Bowing  himself  out  he  was  met  in  the  front  hall  by 
Aunt  Nell. 

"Well,  sir,  did  you  see  him  ?"  she  inquired. 

"No,  I  saw  her,"  the  lawyer  replied,  shortly. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

MR.    ABNER    PREPARES   TO   GIVE   BATTLE. 

The  morning  after  Moses  Webster's  interview  with 
Mr.  Abner,  that  gentleman  had  regained  his  wonted  calm 
and  dignified  hold  upon  the  forces  he  guided  in  the  bat 
tle  for  business.  For  a  time  the  young  man's  denuncia 
tion  weighed  upon  him,  even  after  business  hours,  but  he 
threw  it  off,  much  in  the  same  manner  the  first  murderer 
is  said  to  have  attempted  to  lay  the  foundations  for  an 
alibi  with  his  God. 

"A  lot  he  knows  about  business,  and  less  about  those 
rabid  unionists,  I  guess,  or  religion.  Now  that  was  a 
queer  notion  he  had,  another  freakish  outcropping  of  the 
'golden-rule-in-business'  idea.  Well,  I'll  have  to  let  him 
go ;  it  wouldn't  do  to  keep  him  on,  after  what  happened 
to-day."  This  as  he  lay  courting  sleep. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  office  he  took  a  hasty  look  in 
the  direction  of  Moses'  desk,  and  seeing  that  young  man 
with  his  face  boring  into  his  books,  he  passed  on  hurried 
ly.  Entering  his  office,  the  secretary  and  timekeeper 
were  summoned.  Orders  were  issued  that  Moses  Web 
ster's  name  should  leave  the  payroll  that  night. 

The  secretary,  a  good  friend  of  Webster's,  was  much 
perturbed,  and  reluctantly  went  about  his  task.  In  the 
end,  he  returned  to  his  office  wondering  how  a  young 
man  with  a  family  could  take  a  discharge  without  notice 
so  coolly.  The  news  spreading  through  the  office  build 
ing,  that  the  confidential  clerk  had  been  "fired,"  not  a 
few  offered  condolence.  To  all,  Moses  had  but  one 
reply, 

"Yes,  I  got  what  the  boys  call  'the  can/  and  am  going 
to  quit  the  city." 

Abner  had  hardly  finished  with  Moses  when  he  sent 
word  to  Moran  that  he  was  wanted  in  the  office.  The 
foreman  responded  without  a  thought  of  what  impended. 

"Mr,  Moran,"  Abner  began,  after  he  had  kept  the 
474 


MR.  ABNER  PREPARES  TO  GIVE  BATTLE       475 

foreman  waiting,  cap  in  hand  a  full  ten  minutes.  "I 
have  read  your  report  on  the  loss  of  that  twenty-ton 
casting  last  Tuesday;  I  have  also  examined  the  reports 
of  the  moulders  and  furnace  men,  handed  in  by  the  as 
sistant  superintendent."  He  paused,  took  up  a  packet  of 
long  envelopes  and  began  leisurely  to  examine  them. 

"And  I  hope  I  made  it  plain  in  my  report  that  we 
have  had  a  less  percentage  of  loss  on  both  light  and 
heavy  work  than  the  average  plant  using  a  like  equip 
ment,"  Moran  spoke  confidently. 

"I  noticed  that  you  sought  to  convey  that  impression, 
but  it  don't  satisfy  me.  I  mean,  I  am  not  running  this 
business  on  other  men's  averages.  If  other  employers 
keep  incompetent  help,  that's  their  lookout.  I  want  the 
work  done  in  this  plant  to  count.  And  that  on  the  right 
side  of  the  ledger.  Take  this  piece  of  work,  under  your 
direct  supervision,  and  all  the  time  used  in  producing 
that  cast  and  all  the  time  it  has  taken  to  break  it  up  is 
just  so  much  dead  loss." 

"But,  Mr.  Abner,  there  never  was  a  moulder  who 
didn't  lose  work;  and  your  assistant  superintendent  told 
me  the  figure  given  on  those  four  castings  was  made  to 
cover  the  loss  of  one  and  still  leave  the  usual  profit." 

"And  if  the  one  had  not  blown  out,  the  profit  would 
have  been  that  much  greater,"  the  employer  finished, 
tapping  the  desk. 

"I  am  sure  I  selected  the  very  best  men  in  the 
shop " 

"And  this  is  the  result,"  Abner  exclaimed,  triumph 
antly.  "This  is  the  result." 

"No,  sir,  it  did  not  result  from  any  fault  of  the  men." 

"Then  you  admit  the  fault  was  yours?" 

"Yes,  if  it  is  a  fault  to  obey  the  orders  of  a  superior, 
it  was  my  fault." 

"That  will  do,  Mr.  Moran ;  that  will  do.     I  want  a  • 
foreman  in  your  department  who  is  less  apt  to  make  mis 
takes,  nnd  one,  sir,  who  when  he  does  make  a  mistake, 
will  not  attempt  to " 

"If  I  may  finish  that  sentence  for  you,  Mr.  Abner,  I 
shall  be  a  thousand  times  obliged  to  you.  You  want  to 
fire  me  and  have  labored  over  a  very  poor  excuse,  at 
great  length."  Moran  walked  over  to  the  president's 


476  MILLS   OF   MAMMON 

desk  and  looked  down  on  that  little  man  with  a  righteous 
wrath  burning  through  his  blackened  face. 

Abner  looked  up  quickly,  wondering  was  he  in  for 
another  tongue  lashing,  and  mixed  with  that  query  in  his 
mind  was  another.  What  sort  of  men  were  these  he  was 
dealing  with?  Aloud  he  said: 

"The  reasonableness  of  the  excuse  must  rest  with 
me;  you  could  hardly  be  expected  to  admit  its  justice, 
but,  you  did  finish  what  I  had  to  say  to  you.  To-night ' 
you  will  be  relieved  of  your  duties  as  foreman.  If  you 
care  to  go  on  the  floor  as  a  moulder,  I  will  see  what  can 
be  done." 

"No,  thanks,  I  know  when  I've  had  enough/* 

With  these  words,  the  foreman  left  the  room  and 
went  back  to  his  work. 

"I  was  a  fool  to  let  him  go  back  among  the  men;  I 
should  have  fired  him  on  the  spot.  The  next  one  won't 
fare  so  well."  Mr.  Abner  jammed  his  pen  into  the  shot 
and  scowled  at  the  calendar. 

Yancey  took  the  news  to  John  Bulman  shortly  before 
noon,  having  got  it  straight  from  Carson. 

"I  have  been  looking  for  it,"  was  John's  comment. 

"And  I  haven't.  Why,  man  alive,  the  plant  is  almost 
solidly  union  and  the  boys  were  getting  ready  to  make 
a  demand  for  a  closed  shop  all  the  way  through." 

"And  he  knew  it."  John  laid  a  hand  on  Yancey's 
arm.  "You  haven't  been  in  this  fight  long  enough  to 
know  all  its  ins  and  outs.  He  knows  almost  as  much 
about  the  work  of  the  unions  as  we  do — not  all  of  the  la 
bor  spies  are  men  sent  from  a  regular  spy  furnishing 
agency.  Right  here  in  this  room  there  are  at  least  two 
men,  members  of  our  union,  who  are  supplying  Abner's 
assistant  superintendent  with  every  thread  of  informa 
tion  they  manage  to  pick  up  at  our  meetings  or  from 
the  men." 

"I  can  hardly  believe  it,  John.  How  could  a  man  at 
your  elbow,  who  called  you  brother,  and  accepted  the 
material  advantages  the  organization  gives  him,  consent 
to  play  so  mean  a  part?" 

"God  only  knows,  I  don't;  but  I  do  know  there  are 
such  whelps  in  practically  every  labor  organization." 

"Well,  that  being  the  case,  I  suppose  I'm  billed  out," 
Yancey  replied,  resignedly,  just  as  Wilson  came  up. 


MR.  ABNER  PREPARES  TO  GIVE  BATTLE      477 

"Hello,  Yancey.''  He  turned  to  John.  "Hear  about 
Moran  getting  the  boots  put  to  him,  John?"  The  new 
arrival  looked  anxious. 

"Yes,  I  guess  it's  not  news  any  longer,"  John  an 
swered. 

A  man  working  near  Yancey's  office  called  out :  "Oh, 
Yancey,  the  phone,"  and  the  word  was  passed  along. 

Yancey  came  back  where  John  and  Wilson  were  en 
gaged  in  an  animated  conversation.  John  smiled  as  he 
looked  into  the  foreman's  big,  square- jawed,  honest 
face. 

"Now,  what?"  he  questioned. 

"We  are  both  invited  to  the  office,"  Yancey  replied, 
and  Wilson  whistled. 

"Guess  you  were  right,  John.  Maybe  I  better  get 
back  so  as  to  answer  my  call  when  he's  through  with 
you.  Say,  won't  there  be  a  little  piece  of  something  tore 
off  here  if  this  keeps  on?" 

"If  what  keeps  on?"  The  assistant  superintendent, 
a  slim,  lean-faced  Pittsburg  importation,  had  slipped' 
up  behind  the  three.  Wilson  whirled  on  him. 

"This  slippery  weather,"  he  answered,  and  strode 
away. 

When  Yancey  and  Bulman  faced  Abner,  he  said: 

"I  called  you  men  in  together  because  I  understand 
that  you,"  his  pencil  pointed  to  Yancey,  "have  not  made  a 
protest  against  this  man's  inflammatory  utterances 
among  the  hands.  I  have  had  any  number  of  complaints 
from  the  decent  men  in  your  department,  and  I  have 
waited,  Mr.  Yancey,  to  hear  of  your  taking  this  matter 
up,  as  I  certainly  expected  you  would."  Yancey  bowed 
slightly,  while  John,  remembering  his  experience  at 
Nixon's,  sat  smiling. 

"Well,  what  have  you  to  say,  Mr.  Yancey?  You  cer 
tainly  knew  this  man  had  been  engaged  in  stirring  up 
discontent  among  our  hands.  In  fact,  I  have  it  on  what 
seems  to  be  quite  good  authority  that  you  have  listened 
to  his  anarchistic  mouthings,  and " 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  say  a  word,  Mr.  Abner?  It 
may  simplify  matters  a  great  deal,"  John  added  explana 
tion  to  question  and  awaited  a  reply. 

"I — I  would  much  prefer  to  settle  the  matter  under 
discussion  with  Mr.  Yancey ;  he  ought  to  be  able  to—" 


MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

"Hang  himself,"  John  blurted  out,  "because  he  hap 
pens  to  be  a  friend  of  mine  and  would  neither  lie  nor 
state  the  truth  in  a  way  to  hurt  my  feelings." 

Yancey  looked  his  gratitude  and  was  on  the  point  of 
answering,  when  Bulman  went  on: 

"Mr.  Abner,  you  do  not  need  to  mince  words  nor 
frame  up  excuses  in  order  to  get  rid  of  me.  I  am  only 
a  hand  here,  and  you  would  not  need  to  call  me  into  your 
office ;  you  didn't  call  me  in  on  my  own  account,  did  you  ? 
Of  course  not;  Yancey  is  the  man  you  are  after — oh, 
yes,  you  want  me,  too,  but  it's  Yancey  you  want  now. 
But  I'm  going  to  tell  you  that  you'll  have  to  hunt  some 
other  excuse.  Yancey  is  not  a  Socialist;  he  doesn't  be 
lieve  in  anything  political,  but  your  dear  Republican 
party.  As  for  his  listening  to  me,  I  will  have  to  admit 
that  he  has,  but  he  nor  any  other  man  ever  heard  me  talk 
Socialism  during  work  hours,  and  this  foreman  of  yours, 
happening  to  be  one  of  the  few  old  line  partyites  who 
still  believes  in  political  liberty  and  free  speech,  has  lis 
tened  to  me  and  been  very  much  disgusted  with  my  ar 
guments;  still  he  listened.  Now,  if  you  can  convince 
him  that  it  is  necessary  to  the  preservation  of  the  Ameri 
can  democracy  for  all  workers  to  surrender  their  politi 
cal  convictions  at  the  door  to  your  plant,  why,  without 
doubt,  he  will  see  to  it  that  I  am  the  last  disrupter  ever 
allowed  in  his  department." 

When  John  had  finished,  Mr.  Abner  straightened  up. 

"Your  flippancy  will  not  save  you,  my  man,  and  I 
am  inclined  to  think  I  might  dispense  with  your  pres 
ence,  that  is,  if  Mr.  Yancey  can  get  along  without  his 
attorney;"  the  sneer  that  accompanied  the  thrust  made 
Yancey  wince,  but  John  just  sat  and  smiled. 

"Well,  sir,  do  I  have  to  repeat  my  desire  that  you 
leave?"  the  president  demanded,  well-nigh  beside  him 
self  with  anger,  as  he  observed  Bulman's  cool  demeanor. 

"But  you  certainly  have  forgotten  something,  Mr. 
Abner,"  John  insisted. 

"I  will  forget " 

"And  I  would  remind,"  John  laughed.  "Remind  you 
that  you  have  not  disposed  of  me.  To  allow  me  to  re 
turn  to  the  machine  shop  with  my  case  in  its  present 
status  might  mean  a  further  contamination  of  your  vir 
tuous,  patriotic  help.  And  if  I  quit  this  room  without 


MR.    ABNER    PREPARES    TO    GIVE    BATTLE  479 

first  having  been  discharged,  my  duty  to  you,  my  em 
ployer,  would  leave  me  no  choice  but  to  return  to  the 
work  I  left  unfinished.  This  being  the  case,  Mr.  Abner, 
don't  you  think  it  would  be  best  for  you  to  have  one  of 
the  tale-bearers  from  the  shop  and  another  good  safe 
man  accompany  me  and  see  to  it  that  T  pack  my  kit  and 
get  out  without  attempting  to  blow  anybody  or  anything 
up?" 

Yancey,  in  deep  water  himself,  could  not  hide  the 
grin  that  spread  over  his  face  as  he  watched  the  two 
men.  John,  cool,  good  humored,  and  in  every  way  mas 
ter  of  the  situation,  facing  a  little  man  on  nettles  and 
plainly  showing  his  discomfort.  When  John  had  finish 
ed,  he  stood  hat  in  hand  waiting  the  decision  of  his  em 
ployer.  The  last  named  gentleman  fumbled  among  some 
loose  papers  on  his  desk,  coughed  and  made  up  his 
mind.  Taking  a  speaking  tube  from  its  holder,  he  call 
ed,  "Williams,  Williams,"  and  waited. 

Williams  entered  and  without  looking  up,  Abner 
said:  "Williams,  go  out  with  this  man  and  see  that  he 
gets  his  tools  and  other  traps.  As  you  go  out,  tell 
Lowry  to  make  out  his  time  and  see  that  he  gets  it 
cashed." 

When  they  were  gone,  he  turned  to  Yancey,  but  was 
forestalled  by  the  latter's  saying: 

"It's  entirely  unnecessary  for  you  to  take  up  time 
with  me,  Mr.  Abner.  You  have  discharged  three  men 
within  two  days,  for  a  reason  known  to  both  of  us.  And 
you  won't  need  to  discharge  the  fourth  on  your  list.  If 
you'll  just  call  the  secretary  in  and  give  him  to  under 
stand  that  I've  resigned  and  want  the  same  treatment 
Bulman  is  to  get,  you'll  greatly  oblige  me." 

"But,  I  did  not  intend "  Abner  sputtered,  and  was 

cut  short. 

"Your  intentions  I  have  no  desire  to  discover  at  this 
time ;  you  have  my  resignation ;  I  will  not  work  another 
hour  under  you.  I  believe  in  discharging  men  for  cause, 
and  I  do  not  believe  in  lying  about  the " 

"Do  you  accuse  me  of  lying?"  Abner  demanded,  in 
dignation  written  all  over  him. 

,    "I  accuse  you  of  attempting  to  job  me  over  the  shoul 
ders  of  a  better  man ;  I'm  going  out  to  get  my  tools,  and 


480  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

by  the  time  the  men  knock  off  I'll  be  in  the  office  and 
shall  expect  a  settlement  in  full." 

We  have  said  that  Abner  was  a  better  handler  of 
men,  a  better  industrial  general  than  either  Price  or  Hoi- 
don.  He  is,  but  the  men  he  has  been  weeding  out  are 
not  the  ordinary  "hands."  If  he  is  once  safely  rid  of 
the  few  "men"  he  had  marked,  he  will  prove  his  title 
well  bestowed. 

It  is  the  "man"  among  the  "hands"  who  is  always 
marked,  bear  that  in  mind.  It  is  always  the  fighter  for  a 
man's  rights  in  the  industrial  battle  whose  name  graces 
the  "blacklist."  And  it  is  always  the  lick-spittle,  tale 
bearer,  liar,  hypocrite  and  me-too  whose  welfare  is  the 
concern  of  our  goo-goo  apologists  for  scabbery  and  Pink- 
erton  espionage  over  labor.  Abner,  manager  of  the  Hoi- 
don  Company,  and  of  its  sister  corporations,  president, 
is  not  asleep.  There  are  a  dozen  men  or  more  in  this 
one  plant  who  are  almost  as  courageous  as  these  men 
he  is  discharging — and  he  must  be  rid  of  them. 

Will  the  "hands"  at  Holdon's  rise  in  revolt  when 
these  twelve  "men"  are  put  aside?  Will  they? 

Remember,  an  injury  to  one  is  not  yet  felt  to  be  the 
concern  of  all,  even  in  the  ranks  of  organized  labor. 

The  infamous  blacklist  bears  witness  that  thousands 
of  men  have  been  and  are  being  denied  the  right  to  live 
by  the  exercise  of  skill,  dearly  bought  in  the  mills,  mines 
and  factories  of  this  land,  simply  because  they  fought 
for  the  advancement  of  a  principle.  And  in  these  mills, 
mines  and  factories  other  men,  union  men,  to  hold  their 
jobs,  forswear  the  principle  their  blacklisted  brothers 
fought  to  uphold,  make  peace  with  the  scab,  sit  un 
moved  in  the  presence  of  Pinkerton  spies,  and  insist  that 
they  are  saving  the  world  of  labor  from  degradation. 

What  will  the  "hands"  do?  A  handful  of  men  in  the 
various  departments  will  do  their  utmost  to  induce  the 
"hands"  to  go  on  strike ;  should  they  succeed  in  taking  the 
hands  out  with  them  a  few  hired  thugs,  a  few  broken  win 
dows,  a  street  fight  or  two,  then  a  prostituted  court  B  would 
issue  the  ready-made  injunction  and  the  unions  involved 
would  have  to  set  a  watch  on  their  membership  to  keep 
them  in  line,  another  watch  on  the  scabs,  another  for  spies, 
/iii'l  finally  appeal  to  labor  as  a  whole  to  finance  the 
strike.  In  the  meantime,  the  gentlemanly  agents  of  the 


MR.    ABNER    PREPARES   TO   GIVE    BATTLE  481 

employer  would  get  busy.  First,  priests  and  preachers 
would  be  reached  in  order  that  moral  suasion  might  be 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  misguided,  though  righteous 
among  the  hands.  Next,  these  same  gentlemanly  agents 
would  hunt  high  and  low  to  discover  an  official  or  two 
among  the  unions  who  might  be  moved  by  bribery.  Hired 
liars  and  leprous  lawyers  in  swarms  would  surround  the 
hands;  jealousy,  distrust,  fear,  want,  hunger,  religion, 
politics,  patriotism,  property  interests,  all  centering  their 
fire  upon  the  "hands,"  the  best  they  would  dare  to  hope 
would  be  a  drawn  battle.  A  victory  in  wage  increase,  ac 
companied  by  as  great  an  increase  in  living  expenses,  is 
the  history  of  all  successful  labor  struggles.  The  history 
of  labor's  defeats  is  indeed  pitiful.  But  what  will  the 
hands  do? 

Mr.  Abner  is  prepared  for  battle,  and  a  thousand  Mr. 
Abners  are  preparing  for,  are  prepared  or  are  engaged 
in  battle  with  their  hands  as  you  read  this. 

Read  the  story,  any  story  of  labor's  struggle,  from 
Homestead  to  McKees  Rocks,  and  aside  from  local  color 
ing,  they  are  practically  identical. 

In  Mammon's  mills  the  miller  sets  the  toll  each  shall 
pay  who  brings  grist  to  be  ground. 

And  Mr.  Abner  is  ready  for  battle. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


THEY  ACCEPT. 

The  funeral  of  the  Honorable  Horace  Holdon  was 
featured  by  the  press  as  one  of  the  most  notable  in  a 
decade. 

In  an  eastern  city  another  funeral  was  held  the  same 
day,  the  funeral  of  a  man  who  has  been  charged  with 
two  crimes,  and  this  funeral  was  also  "played  up"  in 
order  that  the  story  of  the  Holdon  murder  might  be  re 
told  as  "news." 

When  the  women  of  the  Holdon  household  returned 
from  the  cemetery  it  was  to  find  a  telegram  from  New 
York. 

"Mrs.  Holdon  is  very  ill ;  will  wire  again  to-morrow. 

"J.  D.  Downie,  M.  D." 

Beatrice  read  the  message  and  handed  it  to  her  aunt 
without  comment. 

"The  strumpet,  ill,  indeed!  I  tell  you,  Beatrice,  that 
woman  is  an  impostor."  Aunt  Nell  ended  by  throwing 
the  message  on  the  floor  and  putting  her  foot  on  it. 

"But,  aunt,  you  know  Mr.  Martin  reported  that  he 
had  found  the  record  of  the  marriage  license;  also  the. 
janitor  who  took  care  of  the  church " 

"I  thought  you  told  me  yesterday  that  they  were  mar 
ried  at  a  parsonage?"  Aunt  Nell  snapped  out. 

"Yes,  but  it  happened  this  janitor  was  at  the  parson 
age,  not  at  the  church.  Mr.  Martin  says  he  described 
both  quite  accurately,"  the  girl  replied  in  a  tired  voice. 

"And  so  you  intend  to  take  that  filthy  thing  in  here, 
when  she  recovers  from  her  illness?"  The  scorn  of  the 
elder  woman  cut  deep,  but  the  girl  ignored  it  as  she  re 
plied  : 

"If  she  was  good  enough  for  my  father  to  marry,  she 
is  good  enough  to  have  her  rights  in  the  estate.  If  I 
cannot  live  with  her " 

482 


THEY  ACCEPT  483 

"Yes,  if  you  can't  live  with  her,  what  then?  Marry 
that  cad  who's  been  snooping  around  here  for  a  year?" 

"To  whom  do  you  refer?"  the  niece  asked  quietly, 
but  there  was  anything  but  quietness  -in  her  eyes. 

"To  Charles  Augustus;  who  else?" 

"That  will  do,  aunt.  At  any  time  it  would  be,  well, 
presumptuous,  let  us  say,  but  at  this  time,  aunt,  aunt, 
I  haven't  merited  this."  The  girl  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands  and  began  to  weep. 

"You  haven't  merited  what,  I  should  like  to  know? 
To  hear  you  talk  one  would  think  that  your  own  father's 
sister  had  no  more  rights  in  this  house  than  a  stranger." 
Aunt  Nell  lifted  her  voice  to  a  shrill  pitch  as  she  went, 
on.  "When  I  called  Charles  Augustus  a  cad,  I  meant 
it.  And  what's  more,  when  he  called  here  the  other 
evening,  I  told  him  as  much.  Do  you  think  I  am  blind? 
Well,  I'm  not,  and  neither  am  I  deaf.  I  heard  him  not 
two  weeks  ago  telling  Hammond  he  had  you  broke  to 
the  bridle  and  that  as  soon  as  he  had  the  thing  cinched 
he'd  see  to  it  that  the  female  chestnut  of  the  family,  who 
was  already  cracked,  got  hers." 

During  this  recital  Beatrice  had  dried  her  tears  and 
sat  drinking  in  every  word. 

"Did  he  really  say  that,  or  were  you  having  a  nap?" 
she  asked  in  an  awed  voice. 

"Nap,  your  grandmother!  I  don't  nap  when  young 
men  are  around,  or  old  ones  either." 

"If  it  will,"  Beatrice  selected  her  words  carefully. 
"If  it  will  relieve  your  mind  and  in  some  measure  restore 
me  to  your  better  thoughts,  I  will  tell  you.  I  never  in 
tended  to  marry  Mr.  Wetherby,  even  should  he  ask 
me." 

"Thank  the  Lord,  that's  off  my  mind.  That  is,  if 
you  really  mean  it?"  She  cast  a  glance  of  suspicion  in 
the  direction  of  Beatrice,  then  turned  her  eyes  to  the 
ceiling  in  silent  thanksgiving. 

Aunt  Nell  had  developed  a  deep  interest  in  the  Hoi- 
don  estate,  and  had  written  a  brother  and  sister  that,  if 
they  came  on  to  the  funeral,  she  had  no  doubt  Miss  Hoi- 
don  would,  through  her  influence,  do  the  handsome  thing 
,by  them.  She  had  added  that,  without  doubt,  Joel  was 
dead,  and  the  property  would  be  divided. 

The  clan  had  arrived  and  in  time  for  the  last  sad 


484  MILLS  OF   MAMMON 

rites.  At  the  moment  Mrs.  Bishop  had  given  her  opin 
ion  about  the  new  Mrs.  Holdon,  the  brother  had  stood 
within  earshot  in  the  hall,  and  in  his  righteous  indigna 
tion  against  this  woman  who  would  claim  a  widow's 
dower,  and  this  baby  who  would  suck  up  so  great  a 
part  of  the  estate  if  it  did  not  with  its  puny  hands  hold 
the  entire  property  away  from  the  hungry  heirs  there 
assembled,  he  had  fairly  groaned  aloud.  He  was  still 
standing  there,  and  occupying  as  little  space  as  possible 
against  the  wall,  when  Aunt  Nell  again  gave  voice  to  the 
subject  uppermost  in  her  mind. 

"Really,  my  dear,  I  should  like  to  know,"  the  speak 
er  brought  her  eyes  from  the  ceiling,  "once  for  all,  are 
you  going  to  be  fool  enough  to  recognize  that  woman 
and  her  brat?" 

"Stop  right  there,  aunt.  My  father's  child,  my  sis 
ter,  is  not  a  brat,  and  besides,"  Beatrice  had  arisen  and 
was  about  to  leave  the  room. 

"Your  father's  child?"  the  other  taunted.  "A  likely 
story.  It's  some  brat  picked  out  of  the  gutter  and  foist 
ed  upon  you  in  order  to  rob  us  of  our  property." 

Beatrice  turned.  "Our  property?"  she  repeated, 
questioningly. 

"Yes,  our  property.  When  your  father  died  intestate 
the  millions  he  left  belong  to  his  family,  and  this  inter 
loper—this " 

"I  have  heard  quite  enough  of  this,  aunt.  If  you  and 
all  the  other  relatives  are  going  to  begin  to  fight  for  the 
spoils  before  the  grave  is  sealed,  I  shall  have  to  ask  you 
to — to — leave  me.  I  cannot " 

"You  cannot  play  into  the  hands  of  that  adventuress 
fast  enough,"  the  other  almost  shrieked  as  the  girl  ran 
out  of  the  room  and  plumped  into  her  Uncle  Walter, 
who  had  gradually  drawn  nearer  to  the  door  during  the 
interview. 

Beatrice  ran  to  her  rooms  without  stopping  to 
acknowledge  the  profuse  apologies  Uncle  Walter  offered 
for  having  just  at  that  moment  halted  at  the  door  un 
certain  whether  to  go  in  or  not. 

"Oh,  my  poor  father,"  she  cried  upon  bended  knees 
by  the  big  chair  he  used  to  sit  in  when  she  could  in 
veigle  him  into  visiting  her  sitting  room.  "They  are 
here,  not  out  of  respect  for  you,  but  because  they  want 


THEY  ACCEPT  485 

your  money.  And  Uncle  Walter — I  wouldn't  have 
thought  that  of  him." 

As  the  clock  ticked  off  the  minutes  the  girl,  sore 
pressed,  poured  out  both  tears  and  prayers  for  guid 
ance.  Her  father's  lawyers  were  against  her — her  own 
flesh  and  'blood  as  well — and  all  against  the  woman 
who  had  married  her  father  as  well.  Every  one  to  fight. 
Hew  she  wished  the  mother  and  baby  were  there  to  give 
her  courage,  or  drive  her  to  despair ;  any  way,  she  would 
hold  out  for  the  wife  and  her  little  sister  against  them 
all,  no,  not  all.  With  a  glad  cry,  she  sprang  to  her  feet. 
John  Bulman  was  not  against  her.  Had  he  not  warned 
her,  urged  her  to  'be  brave? 

She  would  see  him  and  at  once,  if  he  were  to  be 
found.  A  little  note  written  and  folded  by  nervous 
fingers,  a  call  on  the  house  phone  and  a  maid  hastening 
away  as  though  her  life  depended  upon  it,  then  a  rest 
less  nerve-consuming  wait.  Finally,  unable  to  remain 
inactive  longer,  Beatrice  went  downstairs  and  as  she 
reached  the  front  hall,  saw  Aunt  Nell  at  the  door. 

"No,  you  are  mistaken,  you  were  not  sent  for,"  Mrs. 
Bishop  was  saying  and  a  voice  on  the  outside  replied : 

"Madam,  it  is  you  who  are  mistaken:  Here  is  the 
summons  I  answer."  Bulman  held  Beatrice's  note  to 
ward  the  keeper  of  the  gate.  It  was  snatched  from  him 
and  torn  into  bits. 

"That  for  your  summons;  the  girl  is  clearly  beside 

herself,  and  it  is  high  time  her  relatives  put  a  stop 
,  .v 

"Mrs.  Bishop,  will  you  please  step  aside?"  It  was 
not  a  question,  but  a  command,  and  Mrs.  Bishop,  after 
one  frightened  glance  at  the  girl's  set  face,  fairly  flew 
up  the  stairs  and  into  her  apartments. 

"Mr.  Bulman,"  Beatrice  held  out  both  hands.  "I  am 
more  glad  to  see  you  than  I  can  tell,  and  I  want  to  apol 
ogize " 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all."  Their  hands  still  clasped. 
"I  don't  mind,  and  you  wouldn't  if  you  knew  the  over 
topping  reason  for  it  all.  "  He  was  led  into  the  library. 

Excusing  herself,  Beatrice  went  to  the  doors  and 
carefully  closed  them  one  after  another. 

"They  have  not  begun  already?"  the  man  protested, 


486  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

and  was  answered  with  a  nod  and  a  blush  of  shame  as 
the  girl  turned  back  to  him. 

For  two  hours  this  man  of  the  people  listened,  ad 
vised,  dissuaded  and  encouraged  the  woman.  At  the 
end  of  that  time  they  had  decided  to  present  to  the  at 
torneys'  a  proposition,  which  if  accepted,  would  give  them 
time  to  prosecute  the  search  for  Joel,  rid  the  estate  of 
the  several  pieces  of  property  then  used  for  questionable 
purposes,  and  at  least  satisfy  the  b'rother  and  sisters  of 
the  deceased  for  a  time.  It  also  provided  for  Beatrice 
holding  the  residence  until  such  time  as  the  court  should 
decide  -that  the  son's  interest  in  the  estate  need  no  longer 
be  considered. 

When  it  'had  been  roughly  drafted  by  Bulman 
Beatrice  asked: 

"Will  they  sign  it?" 

"The  widow  will,"  John  answered,  soberly. 

"And  the  others?" 

"The  others,  too,  if  they  know  what's  good  for  them. 
You  see,"  he  added,  "the  way  matters  stand,  they  are 
not  sure  of  anything;  there  are  so  many  complications. 
I  believe  they'll  grab  at  the  twenty  thousand  each,  and 
hope  to  find  some  way  around  the  waiver,  should  any 
thing  else  turn  up." 

"I  ought  to  be  insulted  when  you  talk  that  way  about 
my  relatives" — a  sad  little  smile  came  to  her  lips — "but  I 
am  not.  Your  talk  this  evening  has  been  a  tonic  to 
me." 

"And  I  have  been  paying  a  debt."  Bulman  looked 
at  his  watch.  "Nine  o'clock;  land  alive,  I  had  no  idea 
it  was  so  late." 

"Is  it?  Why,  so  it  is!"  She  stood  facing  him. 
"What  are  you  doing;  still  in  the  shop — our  shop?" 

"No,  I  was  overworked  and  am  taking  a  much  need 
ed  rest." 

There  was  banter  in  his  tone. 

"Out  of  work  again,  Mr.  Bulman?  I  am  sorry.  How 
would  you  like  to  work  for  me?" 

"Tip-top,"  he  replied,  and  on  the  way  home,  asked 
himself  what  she  could  have  meant. 

When  Lawyer  Fanchett  called  by  appointment  at  the 
house  the  day"  after  Bulman's  visit,  the  first  thing  he 
said  was: 


THEY  ACCEPT  487 

"I  want  to  congratulate  you  upon  the  stand  you  took 
regarding  your  father's  widow.  The  evidence  is  ac- 
•.'umulating  and  in  her  favor."  Beatrice  smiled  wanly. 

"Pretty  hard  lines  for  you,  e'h,  Miss  Holdon?"  he  be 
gan,  and  hesitated.  "But,  you  are  as  brave  as — as  a 
woman  ought  to  be.  Now,  if  you'd  broken  down,  we'd 
made  a  mess  of  it,  I  know  we  would.  Why,  Linkenfelter 
was  furious,  positively  so,  when  I  went  back  and  told 
him  we  were  not  to  fight." 

Silently  Beatrice  had  pushed  the  agreement  she  had 
rewritten  across  to  him.  Mechanically  he  picked  it  up 
and  immediately  it  came  under  his  eyes  he  was  repeat 
ing,  "I  told  him  we  were  not  to  fight,"  and  then,  "Good 
heavens,  what  is  this,  a  will?  No." 

The  girl  watched  him  closely  as  he  read,  but  made 
no  comment.  When  he  had  finished,  he  turned  back  and 
began  all  over  again. 

"Will  they  sign  this  ?  Your  relatives,  I  mean  ?  Have 
you  consulted  them  ?"  he  demanded,  and  before  she  could 
answer,  asked:  "Did  you  draw  up  this  paper?" 

"I  had  the  help  of  a  friend,"  she  replied. 

"And  a  level-headed  one — one  who  knows  something 
of  the  entanglements  we  have  to  unravel.  B}  the  way, 
how  did  you  know  about  these  several  pieces  of  prop 
erty?"  Tapping  the  paper  with  his  knuckles,  the  lawyer 
observed  her  narrowly. 

"My  friend  knew."  A  blush  of  shame  dyed  her 
cheeks,  and  she  bent  her  head  until  she  could  only  see 
his  shoes. 

"Your  friend  knows  enough,  evidently,"  he  put  in, 
with  some  warmth. 

"Yes,  enough  to  be  a  true  friend." 

"As  a  rule,"  he  began,  "I  do  not  believe  it  good  policy 
to  fix  hard  and  fast  conditions  of  this  sort,  say  like  these 
selling  orders,  but  in  view  of  your  stepmother's  past 
life;  do  you  know  of  that,  too?"  he  questioned. 

"Yes."  The  answer  seemed  to  be  drawn  from  »her 
with  her  own  heartstrings.  The  man  looked  at  the 
shrinking  girl  and  over  his  face  there  came  a  new  ex 
pression,  an  expression  of  approval,  as  he  said: 

"I  shall  urge  the  carrying  out  of  this  agreement,  and 
I  have  no  doubt  that  Mrs.  Holdon  will  be  glad  to  sign  it. 
The  sale  of  the  property  in  that  case  would  be  a  matter 


488  MILLS   OF    MAMMON 

easily  disposed  of,  and  the  creation  of  the  trust  fund  out 
of  the  proceeds  for  carrying  on  your  project  for  the 
children  will  be  easy.  There's  one  thing  you  forgot,  a 
provision  for  the  expense  attached  to  the  search  for 
Joel.  We  should  include  that." 

"I  did  not  forget  that,"  Beatrice  corrected.  "I  want 
to  bear  that  expense." 

"Nonsense,  nonsense!"  the  lawyer  sputtered.  "The 
estate  shall  bear  the  expense.  I  shall  note  it  down  in 
this  most  entertaining  document."  He  smiled  and  the 
girl  nodded  assent.  "Now  about  the  relatives ;  have  they 
been  making  demands  upon  you?" 

"No,  not  demands." 

"But,  rather  blunt  insinuations,  eh?  I'll  tell  you 
frankly,  Miss  Holdon,  three  of  them  have  hired  attor 
neys,  and  there  are  others  to  follow.  Now,  I'm  going 
straight  to  the  office  and  have  their  attorneys  over.  I'll 
lay  this  document  before  them  and  tell  them  flatly  that 
unless  they  accept  all  of  the  conditions  you  have  named, 
we  will  tie  the  estate  up  in  a  neat  little  package  and  they 
won't  get  a  cent.  There  is  no  doubt  as  to  the  outcome. 
We  have  plenty  of  funds  on  hand  to  pay  them,  and  if 
you  will  draw  up  a  check  for  forty  thousand,  I  will  see 
that  it  goes  through  and  you  will  be  relieved  of  this 
much  of  your  burden." 

Beatrice  drew  her  check  book  from  the  table  drawer, 
and  asked  as  she  held  it  in  a  trembling  hand,  "Have  I  a 
right  to— to " 

"Certainly,  you  have  a  right.  Did  you  suppose  we 
intended  or  that  the  courts  could,  tie  up  your  father's 
estate  so  that  you  or  your  agents  could  not  get  funds  to 
meet  your  every-day  needs?  Why,  if  you  want  to  real 
ize  on  a  check  for  one  hundred  thousand,  I'll  see  that 
the  money  is  forthcoming." 

"Thank  you,  I  feel  much  better;  I  really  thought 
everything  would  be " 

"Involved  in  litigation,"  he  finished  for  her,  with  a 
broad  smile. 

She  bent  over  the  check  book.  "The  largest  check  I 
ever  drew,  and,  oh,  how  I  wish  I — we  had  Joel  here." 

"Yes,"  Fanchett  replied  in  a  very  deliberate  way, 
his  face  expressive  of  anything  but  enthusiasm  as  he  took 
the  check. 


THEY  ACCEPT  489 

"Now,  unless  there's  something  further  you  want  to 
say  to  me,  Miss  Holdon,  I  am  going  back  to  the  office. 
By  the  way,  with  your  permission,  I'll  get  those  lawyers, 
both  the  relatives'  and  Mrs.  Holdon's,  on  the  phone  and 
have  them  there  when  I  get  back." 

"There  is  one  thing  I'd  like  to  have  your  opinion  on." 
The  girl  spoke  slowly  and  with  great  effort,  as  Fanchett 
hung  up  the  receiver  and  announced ;  "They'll  be  there." 

"Don't  you  think  I  ought  to  have  an  agent,  a  good, 
reliable  man,  to  look  after  the  details  so  long  as  I  am  sup 
posed  to  be  the  head  of  affairs?" 

"Of  course,"  the  reply  came  with  emphasis. 

"And  may  I  select  my  own  agent?  A  man  I  have 
known  for  years,  one  who  is  the  soul  of  honor  and " 

"If  he's  a  business  man,  yes,"  Fanchett  explained. 
"There's  a  thousand  loose  ends  to  be  picked  up,  a  lot 
of  property  to  be  taken  care  of,  and  it  needs  a  man  of 
business.  Now,  I  have  in  mind  an  excellent  man  for  the 
place " 

"But,  you  forget,  Mr.  Fanchett,  that  you  have  ad 
mitted  my  choice  is  to  be  considered." 

"Well,  yes,  now,  who  is  he?" 

"Mr.  John  Bulman." 

"John  Bulman,  John  Bulman.  I've  heard  that  name 
before.  Well,  we  will  discuss  this  agent  proposition 
later."  Mr.  Fanchett  held  out  his  hand. 

"No,  we  won't  discuss  it  later.  Here's  his  address. 
You  will  please  notify  him  that  he  has  been  appointed 
to  look  after  mv  interests  in  the  estate,  at  a  salary  of — 
of " 

"But,  my  dear  lady,  I  must  protest  that  we,  your  at 
torneys,  should  have  the  right  to  examine  this  man,  this 

Mr.  ,  what  was  it?  Yes,  Bulman.  Unless  you 

are  absolutely  sure  of  his  good  judgment,  his  ability,  his 
honesty,  in  which  case  of  course " 

"Of  course,  I  would  have  the  right  to  name  him. 
Well,  I  have  every  right  to  name  him,  Mr.  Fanchett.  I 
have  every  reason  to  esteem  Mr.  Bulman.  You  said  if  I 
had  broken  down  you  would  have  made  a  mess  of  the 
case ;  you  have  been  pleased  to  tell  me  that  if  we  can  get 
my  father's  widow  and  the  others  to  accept  the  terms  I 
offer  them,  we  will  be  saved  a  world  of  trouble.  Well, 
Mr.  Bulman  saved  me  from  breaking  down.  It  was  he 


49O  MILLS  OF   MAMMON 

who  advised  me  to  protect  my  father's  honor  by  keeping 
this  woman  out  of  the  courts ;  it  was  he  who  pointed  out 
that  father's  brother  and  sisters  would  accept  a  lump 
sum  now  in  preference  to  the  uncertainty  of  getting  as 
much  after  litigation;  it  was  he  who  insisted  that  the 
woman  and  baby  are  more  apt  to  be  impostors  than  not, 
but  that  we  could  not  afford  to  quarrel  with  them  now; 
it  was  he  who  pointed  out  the  way  by  which  I  might  re 
tain  my  home  here  and  at  the  same  time  be  free  to  in 
vestigate  this  woman's  claims,  and  that  without  material 
ly  injuring  her  or  her  right  to  finally  take  possession  of 
the  property;  it  was  he  who  suggested  asking  the  court 
to  sanction  our  plans  upon  the  ground  that  no  proof  that 
Joel  is  dead  has  been  discovered,  and  we  should  have  a 
reasonable  time  in  which  to  ascertain  his  fate.  Finally, 
it  was  he  who,  knowing  my  father  owned  these  pieces  of 
property,  at  present  used,"  she  hesitated,  "he  suggested 
their  immediate  sale  and  the  disposition  of  the  proceeds." 

"And  this  man — "  the  lawyer  began. 

"And  this  man,  John  Bulman,  gave  me  courage  and 
advice  worth  more  than  the  millions  father  left  for  others 
to  fight  over,  and  I  want  him  to  help  carry  out  the  things 
he  planned  for  me." 

"Who  is  he?" 

"My  agent,  if  you  please." 

"Very  well,  we'll  call  that  settled.  I  will  notify  him 
and  make  the  salary,  say,  two  hundred  dollars  per  month. 
Of  course,"  he  added,  misunderstanding  the  expression 
on  Beatrice's  face,  "if  he  is  of  as  great  value  in  an  ex 
ecutive  capacity  as  your — your  recommendation  would 
imply,  we  might  make  him  one  of  the  administrators  of 
the  estate  also,  and  increase  his  salary  accordingly.  But 
I  must  go,  positively,  I  must.  Those  claimants'  lawyers 
will  be  anxious.  Don't  be  surprised  if  I  call  you  up  in 
an  hour." 

The  hour  Beatrice  Holdon  sat  with  the  phone  before 
her  on  the  library  table  was  short  indeed.  For  in  that 
hour  she  had  built  and  furnished  a  new  home  for  John 
Bulman,  and  saw  the  fund  for  the  defense  of  working 
children  beginning  to  bear  fruit.  The  bell  rang  its  tiny 
silver  note.  She  looked  at  the  instrument,  then  as  it 
rang  again,  pushed  it  away,  with  something  akin  to 
dread  written  upon  her  beautiful  face.  Again  the  bell 


THEY  ACCEPT. 

rang.  With  a  sudden  cry  of  protest,  protest  against  the 
possibilities  of  disaster  to  her  hopes  that  lay  within  the 
moment,  she  took  down  the  receiver. 

"They  accept,  both  for  the  widow  and  the  relatives. 
Say,  their  lawyers  were  not  overly  well  pleased,  but  to 
refuse  would  have  have  put  them  in  such  bad  light.  And 
about  Bulman.  Are  you  listening?  Yes,  well,  Linken- 
felter  knows  him." 

"And  what  does  he  say?"  The  girl's  voice  was  so 
low  Fanchett  asked  her  to  repeat.  Then  answered: 

"Oh,  he  says  Bulman  will  do.  Says  he  will  take 
charge  of  him — yes,  he  said  tell  Miss  Holdon  I  am  of 
the  same  faith.  I  don't  know  what  that  means,  but  when 
Linkenfelter  says  he's  all  right,  your  interests  will  be 
perfectly  safe  in  his  hands." 

(THE  END.) 


Y.C  1 03467 


LIBRARY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 


LOAN 

ONE  MONTH  ArlJR  RECfelPT 
NON-RENEWABtE 


LD  62A-20m-9/63 
(E709slO)9412A 


.General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


